


new year, new me (things always turn out how they’re meant to be)

by Astronomical_Aphrodite



Series: maybe by next January [1]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Anal Sex, Dave (Umbrella Academy) Lives, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Family Bonding, Fingerfucking, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Getting Back Together, Good Brother Klaus Hargreeves, Good Sibling Diego Hargreeves, Good Sister Allison Hargreeves, Good Sister Vanya Hargreeves, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Klaus Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Klaus Is Smart, Luther Is Trying, M/M, No Incest, Non-Binary Klaus Hargreeves, Oral Sex, Overpowered Klaus Hargreeves, Panic Attacks, Past Drug Addiction, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reginald Hargreeves' A+ Parenting, Slow Burn, Sobriety, Temporary Character Death, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Time Travel, Torture, Unreliable Narrator, Vietnam War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 17:41:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 80,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21732361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astronomical_Aphrodite/pseuds/Astronomical_Aphrodite
Summary: When they travelled back through time, Klaus wasn’t expecting to be the only one who remembered.
Relationships: Allison Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves, Ben Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves, Dave/Klaus Hargreeves, Diego Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves, Diego Hargreeves/Eudora Patch, Helen Cho/Vanya Hargreeves, Klaus Hargreeves & Vanya Hargreeves, Luther Hargreeves/Chuck Beaman, The Hargreeves Family, Vanya Hargreeves/Leonard Peabody
Series: maybe by next January [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1576477
Comments: 212
Kudos: 903





	1. Ständchen, S. 560 (Trans. from Schwanengesang No. 4, D. 957)

**Author's Note:**

> I’m on my fourth time in a week binge watching the show, so I decided it was about time I wrote something to express my feels with.

He woke up on a stiff, uncomfortable bed, blinking his eyes open to see a ceiling three, maybe four feet above his head. Mind running on what felt like fumes, the miserable, haunting (ha!) howls and wails of ghosts too loud to concentrate, he struggled to place where his deja vu was coming from. His most recent memories were of the theatre, Vanya’s concert and the moon and the end of days and Dave in all his brilliance, but nowhere did any of that connect to a sleeping surface that was too hard to be a bed, but too lumpy to be a table. He reached up towards the ceiling, looking at his hand with its taut skin abnormally pale and draped over his bones like a curtain rather than flesh. While he still felt a craving for the drugs that made him forget, he wasn’t sweating, wasn’t shaking, and wasn’t nauseous, but the pounding headache that was assaulting his cranium was—

Time travel. It made sense, the itchy feeling covering his skin reminding him of how he felt when he’d just detoxed from crystal meth the first time, and the feeling that Five had described as someone shoving a box of cotton up your nose. They’d just been holding hands in a circle in the Icarus Theater when Five tried to teleport them away, but he thought they were going to have to waltz around looking like thirteen year olds again. Thank fuck that he was back in his old body. As he turned his head, he saw the bunk beds lining the walls, the plain metal desks and drawers stationed unmovable besides them. There was a woman in a hospital gown standing on top of a desk, screaming at the top of her lungs, and Klaus, with his suddenly functioning memory, recalled that this was the final day of his thirty-day stint in rehab, shortly before dad died. It was why he felt clean, and if there was one benefit of the time travel, it was not having to quit cold turkey again. He’d started off being physically at thirty days sobriety, and while the old him normally would have immediately gone to get a fix once released, he fully intended to get sober this time around.

Swinging his legs off the edge of the bed, he shakily sighed as he stretched his arms into the air above his head, feeling his back and shoulders pop pleasantly with the movement. He slid off the bed, shrugging his shoulders and pulling his black coat tighter around himself, and when he walked through the hallways, giving his encouragement to the other patients, it was amazing how genuine it felt. He took his meager belongings from the security at the end of the hall who wished him luck, but he hoped he wouldn’t need it. The golden token with ‘30’ emblazoned on it was a heavy weight in his hand, symbolic of his fresh start.

“I’m staying sober this time,” he promised, and the man nodded, lips twisted into a skeptical grimace.

“We’ll see you soon, Klaus,” he said, and he wished that blow was undeserved.

Walking out into the sunshine, Ben’s ghost was leaning against the side of the building, arms folded against his chest with an eyebrow raised. When he approached, Klaus resisted the urge to throw his arms in the air in an exuberant greeting. Even if he could start manifesting his brother physically, his abilities were fickle, and he didn’t want to embarrass himself by embracing thin air or shouting at nothing.

“Ben!” He exclaimed under his breath when his brother got close, starting to walk along the sidewalk. Looking grim, Ben began following him, long legs carrying him forwards. “Looks like we have another chance to stop the apocalypse, huh?” He asked, and his brother’s brow furrowed, eyes narrowing suspiciously. Stomach twisting nervously at the sallow expression, he continued somewhat nonsensically. “We don’t even look like children! I thought we were going to look like preteens again. Isn’t that something real special?”

Ben ducked into an alleyway, and he trailed after him, mildly concerned that there was something seriously wrong. He followed ten paces behind, racing to figure out why his brother would drag him there, but when Ben spun around, it was with tight lips and an angry, disapproving glare. “What did you manage to get while inside there?” He asked harshly, and Klaus faltered.

“What do you mean?” He croaked, genuinely confused.

Ben scoffed, throwing up his hands. “The apocalypse? Looking like preteens again?” Turning around, he pressed a hand to his forehead, shaking his head slowly. Klaus could only stare, feeling small. “What are you on right now?” Ben asked, and he swallowed tightly, hugging himself.

“Don’t you remember?” He asked, but Ben’s expression didn’t change. They stared at each other from what felt like a mile away, the noises of the city distant, in a moment that they had just to themselves. Heart sinking into his stomach, he suddenly was feeling ill. “I swear that I haven’t taken anything,” He promised his brother, but Ben looked doubtful. Reaching up, he combed his fingers through his hair, feeling tears coming on. He tended to get weepy when sober. “I am one hundred percent clean right now,” he continued, growing desperate, “and while I might relapse in the future, all I want right now is to never touch another fucking pill again.”

Ben still looked like he doubted him, but his face had softened at the edges, lines less harsh and expression increasingly sympathetic. “You don’t lie about the important things,” he said, “and right now, this is important.” The quiet returned, Ben contemplating him as his eyes examined his face for any signs of a lie. He sighed, and Klaus knew he believed him. “You’re telling the truth,” he conceded, “so what were you going on about before?”

Glancing around, he lifted his hand to his mouth, teeth clamping done on his thumb nail anxiously. It was at moments like this that he regretted not having a legitimate house or address. Sleeping around had been fun and all, and it was easy to evade police and social workers when they never had a place to pin you down to, but after Lieutenant David Katz, even the thought of being with someone who wasn’t him was out of the question. “I’ll explain all of it when we’re somewhere where there’s no risk of someone overhearing,” he finally rasped, and Ben nodded in agreement.

“And where is that, exactly?” Ben asked.

Trying to think, he continued to nibble on his fingernails, shrinking in on himself and brainstorming as hard as he could. If going home with somebody was out of the question, then he couldn’t borrow a place. He could try convincing someone to allow him to stay the night with them, but he had a local reputation as the most prolific junkie in the city and that was unlikely to get him a home for the night, not to mention that he’d survived some pretty horrible couch surfing experiences. There was no way he’d sleep on the street, that was just asking for him to get robbed or murdered, and the homeless at the shelters had enough issues without his night terrors and screams keeping them all up at night. It was hard enough when it was just the mausoleum, but in conjunction with his time in Vietnam, drug use, and the other traumas that have occurred since he was eight, he never had a peaceful rest.

Except, somehow, with Dave.

When he stuffed his hands into his pockets in nervous frustration, his hand rubbed against the plastic bag in his pocket that contained everything that he had owned. It was then that he remembered he had thirty, forty-odd bucks in there from before rehab, and in that instant, the solution came to him.

“I have money,” he said, smiling softly. Ben’s big doe-like eyes widened, as if surprised by the news. “We can get a hotel room.”

Ben stared, and he was growing concerned that he had made a mistake until his brother laughed, lips twisting upwards into a grin. “You really are getting sober this time,” Ben said in disbelief, shaking his head. Warmth blossomed deep in Klaus’ chest, and his eyes stung. “I can’t even remember the last time you chose comfort or shelter over drugs. You’re a changed man, Klaus.”

Honestly, this version of Ben couldn’t even know the half of it.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t find any motels that would take bargaining, and it was late when he’d nearly given up. Prepared to just find a quiet dumpster to sleep behind, somewhere no other junkie had overdosed with no resident specters haunting it, he was marching past a television store window when his eyes caught on the screens within.

It was his second time reading the news, but that made it no less jarring to read the information. The world’s most eccentric billionaire, Sir Reginald Hargreeves, was found dead earlier that morning. Heart attack, old age, health issues — every possible cause of death was listed. Klaus once would’ve said his bitterness at the world had turned his heart into literal stone, so solid it couldn’t beat anymore, but with his knowledge of the past, present, and future, he knew it was just a suicide to force them to come together and stop the apocalypse that they ended up causing instead.

“We should just go back to the house,” Ben suggested, and his words gave him pause. He was watching over his shoulder, gaze solemn as he looked at the television screens, and Klaus could see his reflection in the glass. “Now that dad is dead, Pogo would welcome us, well, um,” he winced slightly, “you back with open arms.”

Although he’d gotten over his hang ups about the estate, it hadn’t occurred to him that they could just go there. “That’s a good idea, actually,” he mumbled, and Ben seemed surprised.

The long walk to the mansion wasn’t exactly the most pleasant. It had started raining halfway through, and by the time he arrived on the street just outside, he’d been soaked. Opening the front gate, he remembered every time he traveled through the doorway as a kid, every time after dad had died the first time. When he used the golden door knocker, Pogo answered the door, and when their eyes met, he could see pity and sorrow flood the butler’s eyes. It was no shock, considering he must’ve still thought he was going to rob the place. Klaus couldn’t blame him, if only because that was exactly what he did the first time around.

“It’s been awhile, Pogo,” he said, voice breaking, and soon he was crying, leaning forwards as a pair of warm hands came around his back. He dropped to his knees, burying his face into Pogo’s collar, and despite the fact that both of them were getting soaked, Pogo held him patiently until he stumbled to his feet, allowing himself to be guided inside.

He was sat down at the dimly lit dinner table, and when Pogo offered him an alcoholic beverage, he turned him down. The shocked expression on Pogo’s face was worth the way his entire body itched with the urge to accept the offer, get drunk in the face of his sobriety. The medallion he played with in between his fingers kept him grounded.

“Are you attempting to abstain from drugs and alcohol, Master Klaus?” He asked, and he simply nodded in response. Grinning resolutely, Pogo instead began to boil water, either for coffee or tea, although the latter was vastly more likely. Dad never liked coffee, or what it entailed. Considered it just another poison that could be added to a body. “I hope you know that your father would be proud of you,” he said, and a little shiver ran up his spine. He’d never want his old man to be proud of him. Only Dave, and Ben, and maybe his other siblings, too. “I am glad that your thirty days spent at the rehabilitation center will have paid off. I understand that sobriety is difficult, but hope that you persevere with it, if only to give you a better life.”

The only thing that could make his life better was having Dave in it, but he didn’t think it was possible anymore. Decades before, he might’ve bitterly thought that it would be better if he simply didn’t have his abilities, but now, they’re the only hope he has of seeing him again.

“If you need to talk,” Pogo says several minutes later, setting down a steaming mug of tea in front of him, “then I am always available to listen.”

He was unsure of what made the difference. It might have simply been Pogo, seeing as in the past, Klaus never bothered talking to the intelligent chimpanzee about his issues. Perhaps it could’ve been the medallion. Maybe it was the fact that, last he knew, Pogo was dead, the world had ended, and everything he loved had been shot, burned, or otherwise mutilated and destroyed. “I will,” he breathed, closing his eyes, “but later.” Taking a sip of his tea, some herbal peach mixture that warmed his throat on the way down, he opened them again. Swallowing, he continued. “I’m pretty tired.”

“Whenever you are ready,” Pogo conceded. He released a shaky sigh, glad that the butler wouldn’t press him for answers just yet. “I’m sure that you know that your father is dead,” he said, “and I am also sure that you know that you can stay here for as long as you wish, Master Klaus.”

Until the apocalypse is averted.

Until he has a stable, well-paying job.

Until the cravings disappear.

“Thank you, Pogo,” he said, and he meant it.

With a nod and another smile, he knew Pogo understood. They remained in quiet, and he continued drinking his tea, cradling the war cup close to himself as Ben sat nearby, brooding on the kitchen counter. His brother would pull strange faces, and he’d struggle with not laughing, ignoring the ghouls screaming in the courtyard outside, the beings flickering in the edges of his vision. Several hours into real, true sobriety, sans withdrawal, and he still was itching for something to make him numb again, although Ben was good at making him forget about his worries, soothing his nerves through methods that didn’t involve smothering his neural pathways in poison.

Eventually, when nothing was left in his mug except the tea bag, Pogo took it from him gently. Bringing it to the sink and setting it down, he turned on the faucet to rinse it out shortly before tossing the tea bag in the trash can. “So, Master Klaus,” he said, “if I may ask, what has driven you to get sober?”

He had only just started discovering what he was truly capable of. If he could eventually make Ben completely tangible, able to be seen by their family, it was worth it in and of itself. If he could learn to summon their father, maybe they’d avoid the apocalypse from the start. Dave was always hovering in the back of his mind, and he didn’t think he’d ever be able to forget him. “I’ve missed out on a lot, because of the drugs,” he lied easily, “and now that dad’s dead, I want to be able to make memories with the family he never allowed.”

Pogo nodded, seeming pleased. “The others will be happy to know that,” he said, and Klaus figured they might. They’d always been the ones pleading with him to get sober, if only because they couldn’t deal with the overdoses.

“I think I’m going to take a walk around the house,” he said, “if that’s alright.”

“It was left to you children in his will,” Pogo said with a shrug. His smile was mischievous, eyes twinkling with humor. “It is not my responsibility to keep you from exploring its many rooms any longer.”

So of course the first place he went was two floors down, to the storage room he’d never been allowed to explore. He’d raided his father’s office first and found a key, because the lock was too complex for picking, he’d tried before, and it always failed.

The storage room was dark, and when he searched for a light switch by the entryway, there was only a flashlight. Flicking it on, he was confronted by everything their father didn’t have room for, didn’t have use for, or didn’t want to see. When he spotted art supplies, he grabbed the easel, canvases, and paints and tucked them underneath his left arm, continuing to explore. There were souvenirs from the villains they defeated, pieces of unused furniture covered by white sheets. He grabbed an ornate box that looked like it would contain forgotten jewelry that, although he wouldn’t sell it, might look good on him, and when he saw an elegant mirror, he snatched it, thinking it might look good on his wall, although it was so heavy he almost couldn’t carry it. He wished he still had the muscle he’d built up in Vietnam, rather than the scrawny junkie body he possessed before everything had gone to shit.

When he reached the end of the storage room, he paused. There was some sort of portrait on the wall, covered by an elegant scarlet sheet, and, gazing up at its form, he furrowed his brow, curious. Gripping the edge of the sheet, he peeled it away, and was met with the face of their father.

He was standing there, and although he’d never seen him looking even marginally happy, there was a broad smile on his face that looked almost playful. Although he was still an old bastard whenever it was painted, his hair was mostly brown, streaked with silver. The monocle on his face was the only thing that was completely familiar, but what struck him as even odder than his expression was the fact he wasn’t alone in the portrait. His hand was resting on the shoulder of a woman with medium brown skin and dark, wavy hair, her hands folded on her lap. She was sitting in a plush, vermillion armchair and looking at the viewer, seemingly content despite being next to quite possibly the biggest asshole on the planet, and he nearly short circuited when he noticed the rings on each of their fingers. Finally, his eyes drifted to the bottom right corner of the canvas, and blanched when he saw the script, in some strange alphabet or numerical system he hadn’t seen before in his life. Giving a final, fleeting glance towards his father and the woman, he let the curtain close again and left, not wanting to think about its implications again until after the apocalypse was averted.

Hefting his finds up the staircase, he somehow managed to avoid his mother and Pogo, dumping his prizes onto his bed. It was strange, being in his childhood bedroom again with the writing on its walls and the fairy lights hanging from everything he could reach, but it was like he was grounded again for the first time in years. Walking back to the entryway and shutting the door, he locked it, not wanting to be interrupted.

Klaus made quick work of hanging the mirror above his desk, thinking it looked nice and elegant in contrast to the cheap belongings that filled it otherwise. He still had his tea set, of course, but he’d never been one to spend his allowance on anything but drugs, and most of his other valuables had been panned off to fuel his addiction. In the end, he started at his reflection in the glass, trailing a hand down his poorly groomed, frail jawline, making a trail from his chin down to his collarbone. It was strange, knowing the only tattoos he had were HELLO, GOODBYE, and his rued umbrella, but maybe he’d get his Sky Soldiers tattoo inked back on eventually, the tiger and, of course, the temple. As he tugged up his shirt, it was the temple tattoo that he missed the most, Klaus loves Dave having been inked into his flesh within a month of that first, fateful kiss.

They had been soulmates. Now, he wasn’t even certain they had ever met in this timeline. Maybe that was a good thing — he could either try to forget about him, or try to repeat everything so that they met again. Each scenario was equally unlikely to occur, as Five might say. His knowledge of past events complicate things, maybe to the extent that they could never meet again without fucking the timeline up completely.

What would Dave have wanted him to do?

Pushing the thought out of his mind, he focused on investigating the rest of his treasures. Erecting the easel in the corner of his room by his rug, armchair, and floor cushions, he leaned the canvases against a nearby wall and placed the paints and brushes nearby on the table underneath his window. It would be nice to do something with his hands, as he’d never been allowed to explore any of his interests if they weren’t somehow related to his powers. It was almost as if everything he’d done as a child had fucked up his relationship with his abilities almost to the point of no return. If it hadn’t been for his selfish need to use Ben as what was essentially an emotional crutch, alongside his ever present need to see Dave again, he might’ve never been sober again, kept overdosing until either Heaven or Hell were tired of him knocking at their doorsteps and just gave up and let him in.

As it was, he left them alone. He was too tired to start anything that night, as itchy as he was to crack open the jars of red and blue and all the other colors he’d pilfered. Moving onto the jewelry box, an ornate red velvet case with a golden trim and latch, he sat down at his desk before opening it up, investigating the interior curiously. There were pearl necklaces and elegant amulets, and more than a few earrings that he’d love to wear whenever he inevitably got his ears pierced. With all the money saved by not doing drugs, he’d be able to get that done in no time at all. However, when he stumbled upon a familiar pair of rings, he was quick to shut it, resolving to look again in the morning and not simply drink to forget about the weirdness that he found.

Stretching, he hopped into bed with a huff, exhausted. Settling down and closing his eyes, he started to drift off almost immediately. It was easy, after the long, rough day that he had been through.

“Are you going to talk about earlier?” Ben asked as he fell asleep, and he shook his head slowly.

“Tomorrow,” he answered.

Ben hummed, but didn’t speak again. He fell into the warm, dark embrace of sleep soon after that.


	2. Nocturne No. 1 in E Flat Major, H. 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klaus gains a grandmother, Allison gives him a makeover, and a long-lost brother returns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for description of a panic attack and some minor victim-blaming, although the latter issue is immediately addressed. Also a warning for Luther being typical Luther.

_They were clawing at his face with cold, grubby hands, fingertips hooking on the ridges and curves of his flesh. Pinned against the concrete floor of the mausoleum, he struggled to try to keep himself afloat in the broiling sea of ghosts. It was him, struggling against the tide, but while the walls were those of the mausoleum, the sky was the same as above Vietnam, stars winking down at him and intermittently exploding like M26 grenades in the jungle. They pulled him by his ankles, trying to drag him somewhere he knew he didn’t want to go, but when he tried to grip onto a pillar, his hands simply passed through like he was a spirit. His screams weren’t working, tongue feeling like lead in his mouth, and when he was dragged through the entryway, it was by a ghoulish Sir Reginald Hargreeves, all mangled flesh and charred skin._

_“This is your fault for being afraid,” he barked in a voice that sounded suspiciously like his commanding officer from Vietnam. Ripping the monocle off his face, a prosthetic glass eye rolled out of his face, falling onto the jungle floor and rolling down a massive hill into oblivion. The ghosts around him all turned into Dave, gazes empty and shotgun wounds in their chests as they pulled at him, trying to rip him apart from the inside. “Three more hours,” his father said, smacking his cane against the side of the mausoleum. Above them, the moon was growing closer, falling apart in bursts of flame as soldiers started shooting at its fragments, and—_

Jerking awake, he heard the rattling of glass on his desk, and saw the flickering of lights. It was strange, but the house had always acted like it was haunted. With the amount of spirits that followed their dad around, it certainly had housed its fair share of ghosts, although most of them seemed to have moved on. He hadn’t seen a ghost yet in the house since they arrived, and he was lucky enough to not have any ghosts with personal vendettas for his ass. His siblings weren’t as lucky, having killed plenty of criminals when they were young, and it was often them that he would distract himself from at home. The nightmares he had been trapped in were standard for him.

Standing up, he took several slow, measured breaths. It was t-minus eight days until the apocalypse, and he was the only one who’d be able to stop it without fucking everything up. He knew the perpetrator, the weapon, the method of destruction. So he started to come up with a plan.

In order to stop the apocalypse, which he knew now was caused by a traumatized Vanya, they’d need to be at their emotional and physical peaks, and for Klaus, that meant being as sober as he could possibly be.

If he was going to be sober from then until the apocalypse, he might as well discover what ‘potential’ his dad claimed he squandered. As a place to start, he wanted to see if he could summon ghosts whenever he wanted to. Specific ones, not just ‘murdered individuals’ or ‘ghouls in the immediate area’. So, he focused on the only ghost besides Ben that he was certain would be around somewhere in the world.

Zoya Popova.

Settling down on the cushions in the corner of his room, he closed his eyes and focused on her face, trying to imagine her in front of him, coming to his messy, unorganized bedroom from wherever, or whoever she was haunting previously. It filled his thoughts, obscuring his senses and caging him in his own brain, but when an extended amount of time passed without any sign of her, he grew frustrated. “She hasn’t shown, yet?” He grunted through clenched teeth, eyes still remaining shut, and he heard his brother sigh.

“Maybe it has to do more with calling her to you, rather than just bringing her here with your mind.” Ben suggested, and he huffed, irritated. He didn’t know how much time had passed, only that it was long enough that the sun had risen and light was spilling in through his bedroom windows. “How do you summon me?” He asked, and Klaus’ brow furrowed.

“I don’t,” he answered, voice deadpan, and Ben clutched at his still, long-deceased heart, making a dramatic noise and toppling over like he had been physically struck. It took everything he had to not laugh, and to remain focused.

Nonetheless, he took his advice, calling out into the endless void of his closed eyes with his heart, rather than just his trying to summon her to him immediately. He asked nicely, appealed to her by extending himself outwards, and he could feel the world shifting around him, a thick fog of static energy building in the air. Suddenly, the world calmed, but before he had the time to wonder if he’d fucked up the process royally and would have to start again at step one, someone spoke.

“Hello?” A woman croaked in another language that definitely wasn’t English, and his heart stopped. Slowly, he opened his eyes.

“Hello, Mrs Popova,” he breathed shakily, and the elderly woman stared at him for a long moment before her face lit up in a grin. Trying not to panic, he listened to her as she fussed over him.

“You need to eat more, dear,” she demanded firmly in Russian, and it was a strange experience, having a ghost care more about his wellbeing than his own family. Well, excluding Ben. Slowly, he relaxed, while she patiently waved her hands through his head to try and tame his messy curls. Just to see if he could, he tried to make her tangible, but it didn’t work, and she continued to just pass through him. “You’re skinnier than my grandson is!”

“Yes, yes,” he said with a roll of his eyes, “I know I’m too thin.”

“You really are,” Ben agreed, and he stuck his tongue out playfully at his brother.

He could really use a smoke, but he didn’t have any cigarettes on him. It was a negative coping mechanism, smoking, but he wasn’t going to allow himself to turn to drugs, and the little cancer sticks were his best bet at maintaining his sobriety. Having a ghost so close to him made him more nervous than he cared to let anyone know, even if she was seemingly friendly. “Mrs Popova,” he said, ignoring his brother, “would you like to take a seat?”

Nodding, she settled down on the armchair, an innocent smile spread across her face even as her kindly old face was marred by the gory wound on her forehead. Briefly considering what to do, his eyes catching on the canvas he’d brought up the night before. Reaching as far as he could, he barely managed to grab it with his outstretched hand, setting it down on the easel and scooping the paints into his arms. He popped the latch on a box of brushes, grabbing a thicker one for the blockier colors that would make up the base of the painting he was about to create, squirted paint onto a wooden palette, and set to work.

He lost himself in his portrait of Zoya until the door creaked open behind him, and he turned around. Standing in the doorway was Vanya, just as he remembered her, although her mouth was agape in surprise, eyes fixed on what he was painting. Self-conscious, he flushed, realizing she must’ve arrived early that morning. Maybe Pogo told her that he was home? If so, he felt a little betrayed by the butler. Behind her, a maid walked down the hall briskly, and he figured maybe there still were spirits that haunted the darkened halls of their childhood residence.

“You’re a virtuoso,” Vanya rasped, and he felt a warm blush creeping across his face. He knew for certain from the lack of apologies that Vanya had no recollection of the past timeline. Clenching his brush harder, he turned away from her and back towards his canvas, although she approached him to stand at his side. Staring at its colored surface, he could understand why she was impressed, although what he couldn’t understand was why she thought he was a natural talent. It was decent, but not the best in any sense of the word. Zoya Popova was still perched patiently on the armchair, looking fondly at Vanya and him. “It‘s beautiful, Klaus.” She put a gentle hand on his shoulder, thumb rubbing at it through his fabric. “Do you mind if I sit down with you?”

Glancing back up at Vanya, he saw her sincere expression, lips twisted upwards fondly as she looked at him. “Well,” he croaked playfully, “since you asked so nicely...”

Settling down on the floor beside him and crossing her legs underneath herself, she admired his art, and when she didn’t speak, he continued painting. The walls of his room were covered in his drawings, and he’d improved in the years since he’d started as a preteen, but he’d never tried using canvas and paint rather than pen and flat surface. He continued with his portrait of the babushka, filling in the shadows of her blouse and skirts with respect. When he moved onto her hair and headscarf, he painted her without the bloodstains, wanting to commemorate her in life rather than in death. It was how he’d draw the boys in his unit, when he had his sketchpad open in the military tents while he was in Vietnam. When their ghosts inevitably appeared, he’d draw them, as sort of a way to cope when he wasn’t willing to access any illicit substances to numb him to the ghosts that were everywhere he turned. During Vietnam, Dave had changed him, and when they were together, he had preferred being sober with him to being high without the ghosts.

Mixing a darker shade of red for the darker portions of her scarf, he wondered whether in this universe his squad was still dead, or alive and kicking. It was likely that he’d doomed just as many as he’d saved, although the thought of it just not having happened made his stomach twist. The last battle he’d served in took the lives of at least half his squad, if not more after he left. Had his being there changed anything from the original timeline?

“Is she sitting there right now?” Vanya asked after a while, and he nodded.

“I’m trying to stay sober,” he said, “and I thought it might distract me to do something with my hands.” Sighing forlornly, he dipped his brush in his paints again, mixing an even darker shade before pressing it against the canvas. “And yeah,” he said, “she’s right there. Sweet old woman, she—“

“I’m happy for you,” Vanya interrupted, surprise and shock evident in her amazingly confident voice. None of them were likely expecting him to show up to the house and funeral sober, let alone be trying to stay that way. He’d see if any of the others believed him later on in the evening. “How long has it been since you started?” She asked curiously.

Klaus beamed. “Thirty-one days,” he said, because for his body, that was the truth. It was the truth that the rehab center would know, and if he had resisted the cravings that long, it was cemented in stone. “Somehow.” Cheekily, he smiled. “Proud of me yet?”

Vanya spread her arms, and he was abruptly reminded of why she was always his second-favorite sibling, after Ben and before Diego. She was always trying to comfort them, even when they did nothing but shun her in return. Leaning forwards, he set down his brush and hugged her, burying his face into the crook of her neck and pulling her close. The embrace was warm and comforting, just like their mother’s hugs, and he felt Vanya press a kiss against his ear. “I’ve always been proud of you,” she said, voice muffled by his flesh.

It was meant as a playful, rhetorical question, but with her answer, he was tearing up. Ben was staring at them wistfully, and he wanted nothing more than to make him corporeal to join them in their embrace, although he knew that ability insofar only seemed to work when they were in mortal danger. Zoya Popova had her hands clasped and held in front of her mouth, eyes glassy.

Eventually, they pulled away, and he forcibly held back his tears, turning back to the painting. He made quick work of finishing it, and when he stood up, stretching, Zoya moved around, examining it. She gave a nod of approval, appreciatively clapping him on the shoulder with an intangible hand. “Beautiful painting,” she complimented, and he blushed.

“You’re just as lovely,” he returned, sending her into a fit of giggles. Vanya gavehim a look, and he jabbed his thumb in the direction of the woman that his sister couldn’t see. “Sorry,” he said, “we have company.”

Sighing, Vanya rolled her eyes. “Am I going to be hearing about more ghosts, now?” She asked, and he shrugged, meaning ambiguous. “Because your stories always terrified me when we were younger.”

“I’ve always had a talent for storytelling and the theater,” he said, twirling his arm in front of him with flourish, “yes?”

She giggled, disguising it behind the back of her hand, and the craving he had for cigarettes was abruptly replaced by the need to see her do it again. This was Vanya, his Vanya, not the white violin-playing sociopath that destroyed the world with the moon. This was the sister that cried when they stepped on ants, that kept the lights on and left out peanut butter and marshmallow sandwiches for Five just in case he came home, that drew an umbrella tattoo onto her arm just to be like them, that stayed up all night with him when he was having nightmares so horrible that he couldn’t fall asleep without waking up screaming. He had failed her, but he knew he couldn’t fail her this time around, not when it was so important. He’d tear the world down, burn it to the ground, if only he could keep her smiling like that forever.

“Remember,” he said impulsively, “men named Leonard are all assholes.”

She furrowed her brows, and Ben said, “What?” somewhere behind him, but she seemed to brush it off as another one of his plentiful idiosyncrasies. “What was that for, Klaus?” Ben asked insistently, and he shrugged to him.

“I’ll take your word for it,” Vanya said slowly, and he hoped she really would take him seriously. Maybe just by telling her that he stopped the apocalypse, if she would listen to him. It could be that simply by not throwing out daddy’s red journal the apocalypse had been averted. Amused, she guided him towards the red staircase, and they went down it together. “You’re a veritable font of ghostly wisdom,” she asked, “huh?”

“They tell me all of their secrets,” Klaus said playfully, “and that’s why I drank to forget!” She laughed again, but it sounded forced, and he realized that maybe the dark, self-deprecating humor wasn’t for her. Perhaps it was too based in reality for it to be humorous. “Really,” he continued, “the sexual things some of those ghosts got up to... the older ones especially like sharing information that makes my ears bleed!” Vanya barked a shocked laugh at that, Zoya Popova releasing a scandalized gasp behind them. Turning around, he winked exaggeratedly at her, sending the older woman into a fit of embarrassed laughter, and it was worth it even when he almost missed the bottom step.

Exiting down into the entryway, they arrived just in time for Allison to walk in through the doorway, dressed up smartly just as he remembered in a blue wrap shirt and black dress pants. Her eyes widened when she saw them, and he realized he was still garbed in the same black fur coat, mesh crop top, purple scarf, and leather pants that he’d left rehab in. Smiling sheepishly, he extended his arms, and she embraced him, slightly hesitant. They hugged tightly before she was peeling back, leaning forwards to hug Vanya. “You two are here so early,” she said, and he laughed.

“I got here last night, actually,” he said, and she reached over, grabbing his wrist. Lifting it, her eyes caught on the paper bracelet around his wrist before she was giving him an appraising glance.

“Fresh out of rehab?” She asked, and he nodded.

“Thirty-one days sober, ma’am!” He chirped enthusiastically.

“And he’s trying to keep it that way,” Vanya said, “in case you were wondering.”

At that, Allison seemed surprised, and a little skeptical. “Is he,” she said, although it sounded more like a sentence than a question. She, Diego, and Vanya were the last to stop showing up in the hospital whenever he overdosed, and he knew she still funded his trips to rehab and paid for his hospital bills, no matter how much she pretended otherwise. Despite her reputation certainly not being able to afford a junkie brother, she still cared about him, even if she mostly pretended that he didn’t exist. Turning back to Vanya, she smiled brightly. “Well,” she sighed, “I’m really glad to see you again, sis. Even if it should be under better circumstances.”

“What is she doing here?” He heard someone say, voice clipped, and he turned around to see Diego squinting at the three of them, glare harsh. After a moment, he glanced at Klaus, expressing turning contemplative. “You seem oddly cheery,” he commented, walking away as Klaus shrugged.

“Don’t listen to him,” Allison insisted. Zoya seemed conflicted, and another maid, a different one, wandered into the room. When she saw the three of them, she started screaming, voice shrill and terrified, but Klaus had trained himself in the art of not flinching. Thankfully, she ran away quickly. It was rare he met a someone that didn’t know they were dead already, most often being those with no visible sign of injury. It was some Sixth Sense bullshit. “You’re always welcome here,” she said, and Vanya nodded, although she seemed more closed off than she had been before.

They wandered into the family room, although it had been more of a place for family meetings than bonding time or socializing. Just as he remembered it from his last visit eleven years before, there were stuffed animal heads hanging on the walls, couches and furniture covering the almost every square foot of space. It was almost suffocating, and instinctively, he wandered towards the bar, although he realized what he was doing long enough to change course and simply hop onto its surface instead. Allison gave him a scrutinizing look, as if she was expecting him to pour himself a drink, but when he didn’t, she looked away from him to examine the room herself.

Mom was sitting by the fireplace, and Vanya approached her, placing a hand on her shoulder. She looked up at her, eyes large as if she hadn’t realized they were there, despite the ruckus they’d created coming in, and he remembered she’d had something wrong with her wires when they’d first arrived. Pogo had fixed her or something after the crooks who invaded the mansion sliced her open. “Mom?” She asked, and their mother smiled brightly.

“Vanya!” She chirped happily, glad to see her. Turning, she saw Allison and himself, looking at them like they were gifts just for her. “Allison! Klaus! What brings you three here to visit?”

“Don’t you remember?” Vanya asked, voice low, but Pogo wandered in before she could respond.

“Welcome home, Ms Vanya and Ms Allison,” he croaked, and Vanya gently released mom to go embrace the chimpanzee. Allison didn’t hug him, but she still patted the man on the back. “It is,” he started hesitantly, “unfortunate, the circumstances that have brought us together today.”

Events were already occurring in vastly different manners, opposed to how they happened originally.

Heavy footsteps could be heard in the entryway, and when he turned, there was Luther, standing in the doorway with his arms folded firmly across his chest. Still the size of a mountain, he showed no recognition, no sign of remembering the day before. “Klaus,” he said stiffly, hands clenched into fists at his sides, “get off the bar.” He knew for certain then that he hadn’t any memories from the timeline where the Earth was destroyed by its moon, which in turn had been blasted into rubble by their sister.

Sighing, he reluctantly slipped off the surface, hands starting to shake a little with nerves. The last time Luther had gotten angry, he nearly was choked to death, and while that had been during the time that Luther was drunk, he had no interest in running the risk of repeating the incident. “You’re no fun,” he whined, and his blonde, buff brother approached him quickly. Stumbling back, he tried to keep his breathing even.

“Whatever you took,” he growled, “drop it.”

Hysterically and somewhat deliriously, he felt like cackling. This time, he hadn’t even stolen anything, and he was willing to tell him as much. “I’ve pocketed nothing, brother,” he said, going for a serious tone of voice for the sole purpose of convincing him that he was, in fact, serious as fuck. Luther didn’t seem to believe him, if the heavy hand he laid on his shoulder was any indication. Static was building, and his ears were ringing, fight or flight instincts starting to kick in. He didn’t want to know what the pressure in his skull would do when it reached its peak.

Luther opened his mouth to speak again, but wonderful, beautiful Vanya interrupted him, thankfully. “I’ve been with him all day,” she said, voice wobbly. She still was afraid of speaking up, although that fear was justified and reinforced by years of her being ignored. “He hasn’t stolen anything. He was only painting in his room alone when I found him this morning.”

As much as they disliked Vanya, they knew she wasn’t a liar. Well, except Luther, apparently. “Your testimony doesn’t count as much,” he snapped, but then Allison stepped forwards.

“They’re telling the truth,” she said. Approaching, she put her own hand on Luther’s shoulder. “You’re scaring him right now, Luther,” she whispered harshly to him, and the hand was taken off of his shoulder as if he was burning hot like a stovetop. Apparently, Allison’s word was all he needed to stop,

At least he had the decency to look sheepish. “Klaus,” he started, “I—“

His feet were already carrying him out the door and into the entryway, through the hallway and up the red staircase again. This time, he let himself into Allison’s room at the end of the hall, predicting none of them would expect him to be in her room rather than his own. Zoya and Ben had been left on the ground floor, and as he slammed the door shut, he immediately went to her bed, curling up on top of the covers and trying not to vomit.

Luther had always been big and intimidating, and when they were younger, he had been a big fan of using his strong, macho voice to intimidate them into doing what he ordered. Team leader bullshit and whatnot had given him the justification to do so. However, he’d never gotten violent before that fight with Diego at the funeral, and it had only gotten worse from there. He liked to think it was grief, but some dark part of his mind wondered if it had happened while he was on the moon, or in the years between the time that he left and the accident that caused their father to send him away to get him out of sight.

Tears gathered in his lashes, and he took in several heaving breaths, trying and failing to keep them measured. Squeezing his eyes shut against the onslaught of noises, of screams and detonated bombs and gunfire, against ghosts calling his name and the walls of Ben that he‘d never actually heard, only imagined, he felt like he was suffocating. Mouth twisting into a grimace, a sob bubbled out of his throat, and while black spots danced at the edge of his vision, he desperately attempted calming himself down.

In the end, he stumbled out of Allison’s bed without even realizing it, stripping naked and moving to his sister’s closet and starting to rifle through the clothes. He found the skirt he had worn the first time around, something that her ass was probably too big for anyways, and slipped it on, grabbing her old velvet jacket as well. Neither of them would be missed, seeing as they were things she had worn when she was a preteen rather than a teenager or adult. The reason they had been left in the house was that she’d outgrown them, although Klaus and his nearly skeletal six-foot body was skinny enough for them, apparently. In his sister’s floor-length mirror, he stared at himself, barefoot with reddened eyes, and realized he’d stopped hyperventilating. The panic and terror had been replaced by numb sadness, and his jaw hurt from the force of his crying.

“You know,” a familiar voice said, “Luther was right to be suspicious.”

Turning towards where Ben was perched on Allison’s windowsill, he frowned, wrapping himself in his own arms. “Sure,” he said, “but he didn’t have a right to touch me like that.”

Ben didn’t seem like he had realized that was what he had taken issue with, rather than the accusation of robbery. Blushing, his brother rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry,” he said, “that was insensitive.” Klaus shrugged, going back to admiring himself. He ran his fingers through his thick, dark curls, examining the bags under his eyes while his brother mused to himself. “Y’know,” he said, “as long as you stay sober, they’ll start trusting you more.”

“I know,” he breathed. How unfortunate was that?

“I’m sorry,” Ben said again, and he nodded.

Inevitably, someone came knocking at the door, gentle rapping at the wood that he knew belonged to one of his sisters. “Come in!” He said, wiping at his eyes, and when the door opened, it was Allison who walked in. Smiling shyly, she closed it behind her. He appreciated the discretion. “Hey, sis,” he sighed, smiling, and she walked up to him, standing at his side.

“After you left,” she said, “Diego came in, Luther basically accused one of us of murdering dad, and everyone had a fight and stormed off.”

“I’m happy that I wasn’t there,” he croaked, and she nodded, concurring.

They stood in silence, her hand a grounding force where it was wrapped around his forearm, and he lost himself to the quiet. Wiping at his eyes again, tears crusted around them, he realized by the angle of the sunlight that it was likely close to noon. He’d whiled away the morning hours of the day of his father’s funeral painting, reuniting with his family, and crying alone in his sister’s bedroom, which was pretty sad. “Hey,” Allison said after a while, “I brought my professional makeup kit with me from LA, if you...”

She trailed off, but he knew where she was heading with her sentence. “Yes, please,” he said, voice a little desperate, and what ensued was their first makeup session since they were teenagers and she was doing his winged eyeliner and vibrant lipstick for him, back when their father thought boys shouldn’t dress like girls and girls shouldn’t dress like guys, and when he and Vanya would sometimes swap uniforms just to feel more comfortable.

Spreading moisturizer over his face with her tender, manicured hands, he relaxed at her vanity, eyes fluttering closed. She patted toner onto it before evenly applying primer with a round sponge, making stripes on his face shortly before spreading it, and repeating the process with a light-colored foundation that he knew she kept specifically for him, considering that she possessed a darker skin tone. With a tube of concealer, she covered up the dark circles around his eyes, and he didn’t flinch while she applied winged eyeliner like how she used to and used mascara to make his lashes longer and thicker than they already were naturally. She pencilled in his brows, highlighted his cheekbones, and smeared lipstick onto his mouth, and when he opened his eyes, he felt more like himself than he had in a while. Sometime during the process, _I Think We’re Alone Now_ by Tiffany started blaring through the walls from Luther’s room, and they lip-synced with the lyrics while she finished applying blush.

“One last touch,” Allison said, standing up and moving towards her closet.

Pulling out a maroon skirt with a pinched waist and a flared design, she shook it on its hangar. He recognized it as her favorite from when they were fourteen or fifteen, although she hadn’t been allowed by their beloved vater to wear it often. Putting his hands to his lips, he looked at her imploringly, and she simply nodded, smile broad. When she left the room for him to change, he put it on enthusiastically, spinning in the mirror with it, his jacket, and his mush top on before allowing her back inside.

“If it’s in my closet and it fits you, then go ahead and take it,” Allison said, grinning and amused, and he clasped his hands together, eyes sparkling. “I missed playing dress-up with you,” she said teasingly.

“As did I, my darling sister,” he agreed enthusiastically, “and I especially missed getting the full celebrity treatment.”

They went through her old cloths together, finding things that were approximately his size before dragging them to his bedroom. He hadn’t had much to his name before, only the clothes on his back, his record player, and his toothbrush, alongside an awful lot of drugs, but now he had an entire wardrobe, although he wouldn’t for long if the apocalypse still happened. He wondered if in the future he would look back on getting clean as the best decision he’d made in his life, or the absolute worst. Besides the ghosts, which he hadn’t seen much of, he physically felt better than he could ever remember being, and almost mentally as well, although the time he spent with Dave was a close competitor. His mind felt uncannily like a broken record, always coming back to David Katz, a good, gay, Jewish boy from Vermont, but it wasn’t often that you met someone that special.

Zoya wandered in eventually, and he wondered if he had accidentally made her a permanent fixture of his life or something like that when he initially summoned her. Although he briefly wondered if an old, likely Russian orthodox woman would be scandalized by his choice of attire, she had only beamed at him. “Pretty little thing,” she complimented sweetly, and it was embarrassing how happy her approval made him. It was like having an actual grandmother.

All good things end eventually, however. As the song from Luther’s room finished, there was a clap of thunder, and suddenly everything in the room was being magnetically pulled to the wall closest to the doorway. With a sigh, he stood up slowly even as Allison, Ben, and Zoya Popova startled, knowing that even though Five’s arrival kickstarted the shit-show that was the apocalypse itself, he was going to be able to see his brother again. Barefooted, he kept himself from making any smart comments as he followed them outside barefoot, racing out into the courtyard where the temporal disturbance was occurring just in time to gather with the others in front of it.

“What is it?” Vanya shouted, not running away despite seeming scared shitless by the blue cloud of electricity and rippling energy. Klaus could sort of make out a tottering, elderly Five through the azure light on the other end, and he hoped against all likelihood that he would never have to see himself be that old looking. It was unnatural, seeing Five like that when he’d only known the preteen version of him, both before and after his disappearance.

The first time this had happened, Allison was holding Luther’s hand, but now she had a firm grip on Klaus’ elbow even as Luther tried to keep her boxed in behind him, away from danger. “Don’t get too close,” she warned.

“Yeah, no shit,” Diego said, voice clipped.

“It looks like some kind of temporal anomaly,” he said just as Luther was opening his mouth to speak.

The petulant glare his brother sent back was definitely worth how petty he felt for beating him to the idea. “Everybody, get behind me,” Luther insisted, even as Diego pushed his way forwards.

“Yeah, behind us,” he said. It was cute, how much he cared while simultaneously trying to hide his gentle mama’s boy attitude. Watching him futilely try to disguise his mushy, protective feelings was like watching an elephant trying to hide in a grocery store.

Finally, Five’s hands started pressing against the edges of the anomaly’s bounds, and while they stumbled backwards, their long-lost brother tumbled through the cloud while it disappeared behind him, landing firmly on the ground with a grunt and looking not a day older than when he’d left. It was odd that he had started considering it normal.

They paused, everyone confused except Klaus, but when nobody moved to say anything, the silence deafening, he spoke his mind instead. “Anybody else see a little number Five?” He queried, the words familiar on his tongue.

Stumbling to his feet, Five glanced around. Part of him hoped that maybe he’d remember the last timeline, but no recognition flashed in his eyes, and he would’ve brought it up immediately if he remembered, considering the fact that it was him who tried fighting the apocalypse in the first place. “What’s the date?” He asked sharply. Klaus resisted the urge to laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rewatches of the Umbrella Academy complete: five.  
> Hours of sleep in the last three days: maybe four or five. My vision is swimming as I type this.  
> Correlation: high?
> 
> As a pansexual nonbinary individual who struggles with a plethora of mental health issues and deals with their problems using unhealthy coping mechanisms that will remain unspecified, I’ve developed an attachment to Klaus and a desperate need for him to be happy in Season 2. My parents don’t quite understand my obsession with him, but oh, well.
> 
> On another note, I’m amazed with the positive response that I’ve gotten for this story! Thanks for taking the time to read it!


	3. Sonata for Violin Solo No. 1 in G Minor, BWV 1001: 4. Presto

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klaus decides that changing the timeline is risky business.

“What’s the date?” Five asked sharply, glancing frantically between them.

“The twenty-fourth,” Vanya said slowly, clearly disturbed by the sudden appearance of their missing kid brother, although the rest of them weren’t fading any better. He tried to look surprised himself, but it was difficult when he knew exactly how the conversation would normally play out.

“Of March,” Klaus clarified before Five could ask for the month.

Nodding quietly to himself, Five grabbed at his chin and mumbled something to himself underneath his breath. The suit he wore was frumpy and oversized, tailored for a man of slightly above average build rather than a skinny preteen, and he ran a hand over himself, exploring his own fragile build. However, he didn’t seem to have realized yet that he’d physically regressed. “What year—“ he squeaked, and the way his eyes widened was almost comical. Running a hand over his face, he pulled at his ears, touched his hair, and released a long suffering sigh. “I must’ve gotten the equations wrong,” he grumbled to himself.

“It’s been seventeen years,” Allison said, voice sharp, and Five released an embittered laugh.

“It’s been a lot longer than that,” Five said ruefully.

“Well,” Klaus drawled, “it’s been seventeen for us.”

Five paused, glaring at him scrutinizingly, and he stared back. They faced off in the courtyard, their siblings staring at them as if trying to gauge whether they were going to fight. Finally, Five shook his head. “Let’s head inside,” he said, turning around and beginning to walk indoors. After a beat, he looked Klaus up and down, nodding sharply. “Nice skirt,” he said.

“Grazie!” He chirruped, pleased by the compliment.

Rolling his eyes, Klaus allowed the others to start following him inside before trailing behind, giving one last fleeting glance to the courtyard. When Five had appeared, dozens of ghosts had come in his wake, mostly having clean gunshot wounds rather than gory injuries, although a few looked like they’d been tortured. They followed after him, some weakly calling his name as if they were unsure of whether he could hear them, and, turning around, he pointedly ignored their presence. He met up with Zoya in the entryway, the old woman having her hands clasped in front of her mouth nervously, and Ben was there as usual, having never left his side.

They reconvened in the basement dining room, gathering around the table, and Klaus hopped on top of it, crossing his legs underneath himself and leaning onto his knees. The others took their seats, watching as Five rummaged in the cabinets. He tugged a bag of marshmallows and a jar of peanut butter out of the cupboards, finding the bread, and set to work making himself a sandwich.

“Dolores kept saying the equations were off, and I paid for it,” he said, teleporting across the kitchen before sitting down at the table. With a butter knife in hand, he spread the peanut butter across two pieces of bread, following it with so many marshmallows, it would be difficult to eat. He sliced it neatly in half, picking up one side and taking a large bite out of it. “Now,” he said through a mouthful of the classic sandwich, “I’m thirteen again. Yippee.”

“How long were you in the past?” Allison asked awkwardly, folding her arms across her chest. Klaus leapt onto the table, crossing his legs underneath himself while the rest of their family took their seats at the long table. “Er, in the future? Where, um, when were you, exactly?”

“Eight days from now,” he answered, voice clipped. He’d devoured the first half of his sandwich in a matter of seconds, then started on the next half. “I spent forty-five years there.”

“So what you’re saying is that you are now a crotchety fifty-eight year old man,” Klaus said, “in the body of a pre-pubescent child.”

“The body in which I am residing in is currently going through the process of puberty, thank you very much,” Five grumbled, with a voice crack and everything. His brows were furrowed, red dusting his cheeks, and Klaus wondered if Five would find a way to get back to his old body after they successfully avert the apocalypse. “And regardless, that isn’t relevant.”

“Well,” Allison said, “you’ve missed a lot.”

“Hopefully not too much,” Five said, almost to himself.

“So,” Klaus started, “what brings you back to the present?” If he could wring out his confession early, perhaps they could assemble their team sooner, before everything had the opportunity to go to shit. “You have to have a reason for coming back. Future not turn out well for you?”

Shoving the rest of his sandwich into his mouth, Five stood up so abruptly that his chair went flying backwards. “It doesn’t fucking matter,” he said around his food, before blinking out of the room in a flash of azure electricity. So much for that idea, Klaus thought. Five had always been stubborn, and being a middle-aged man hadn’t helped change that in the slightest.

“What now?” Vanya asked, and Diego scoffed, stalking away.

“I’ll go find Five myself,” he said pointedly, leaving the room and heading towards the red staircase.

“The funeral will be at fourteen hundred,” Luther called out after him, having made that executive decision just as the last time. It was incredibly irritating, having him constantly taking control like that, but might equals right, or whatever the saying was. Diego flipped him the bird without even looking back, and Klaus felt even more respect for his vigilante brother. As their own knife-happy Batman made his escape, Superman’s face flushed scarlet. “That’s rude!” He said lamely, expression embarrassed, and Klaus laughed.

Eventually, the rest of them cleared out, Allison saying that she needed to get something to eat while Luther simply grumbled and wandered off. Their mom and Pogo had fucked off to wherever, likely to talk or make lunch, and although Ben stayed, he was quiet. Besides their ghostly brother, it was just him and Vanya left, the latter picking nervously at her palm and seeming like she’d rather be anywhere but the dining room.

“You have a concert, right?” Klaus asked, and Vanya’s eyes shot toward him, her brows furrowing like she couldn’t understand why he was asking. “I’m sure you need to practice,” he said, “so would you mind if I listen in?”

“Oh,” she exclaimed mildly, “of course.” She hadn’t expected him to take an interest in her life, but he was eager to prove her wrong. He’d brother the fuck outta’ her, until the apocalypse was averted and Vanya had no doubt that she belonged in the family.

Migrating to his bedroom, since her room had been converted when she’d moved upstairs after Five’s disappearance, she fetched her case from where she’d left it, popping the latches and opening it up. She removed the violin from her case, taking the shoulder rest and affixing it to the instrument, and using chords she tuned it, twisting the pegs on the scroll until the noise it produced no longer wavered. She grabbed her folder of music, opening it up to a chart that had Bach’s name written on it in even lettering, and when she connected the hairs of her bow to the string and moved her bow upwards, there was no other way of describing it other than that the instrument started to sing.

By the time she finished, Klaus was utterly enchanted, the finishing notes being released into the room just as he blinked back into reality. He regretted having severed contact with her at the same time as he stopped talking to the rest of them, despite having been fairly close as teenagers, because her playing had gotten so fantastic in what had felt like a blink of the eye. Ben had been enraptured by her playing, too, and he enthusiastically applauded her performance alongside Klaus. “Magnificent,” he said, “muy increible!”

Vanya flushed happily, lips spread widely. She did a curt bow, holding her instrument in one hand and her bow in the other, and when she sheepishly rubbed the back of her neck, Klaus pulled her into an embrace. “Thank you for the company,” she said, and he nodded into her shoulder, pulling away. He held onto her elbows, and after setting her instrument down, she held him back with an equally firm grip. “I missed you,” she said, “the real, sober you.”

Klaus was a different person sober than he was high, he supposed. “Hopefully,” he said slowly, “I’ll stay that way.” He was done with ignoring his own issues, although the itch persisted. Every time he was reminded of his addiction, the cravings would resurface, if they ever truly left. Addiction was never easily abandoned in the past, and the whole it left always needed to be filled by something else. “Could you show me, later?” He chirped, smiling. “How to play, that is,” he clarified, and after a moment of shock, Vanya nodded.

“Of course,” she said, “that would be fun.”

“We have a lot to catch up on,” he said. She nodded, swallowing tightly.

“Again,” Vanya croaked, “I missed you.”

He hugged her again, not saying anything else, but he didn’t need to. Losing himself in her consolation, when they separated again, she played him one more song before packing up her instrument. He recognized it as the solo she was playing during the end of the world, but he didn’t say anything. It would ruin the peace and trust they already had built up, if not jump-starting the apocalypse. While Klaus didn’t want his sister to be stuck on her medication, knowing what it was like to feel like a slave to a drug, he didn’t know how to handle her properly. It felt like he was walking on eggshells made of glass.

Mom brought them a plate of cookies, and they had it devoured in minutes, chatting casually about music and politics. Zoya ran her ghostly fingers through Vanya’s hair, although she couldn’t have noticed it, and the expression on her face was one of contentment. It was probably tat she was lonely. Before everything else, she’d mentioned having grandchildren, so perhaps Vanya and him reminded her of them?

Before he knew it, the alarm clock was showing ‘1:55’, and it was the point where they needed to head downstairs before Luther came up and physically dragged them downstairs. He stood and stretched, trying to work out the knots that had formed in his muscles and make blood return to the legs that had fallen asleep, and Vanya yawned. “Time to get this over with,” she muttered under her breath, just barely audible, and Klaus chuckled.

They walked downstairs together, and found everyone in the living room, already talking about what to do. Honestly, Klaus thought, they should’ve talked over the plan earlier in the day. None of them were prepared.

“I was thinking we could have a memorial service at dad’s favorite spot,” Luther suggested. When Klaus turned around to look at him, his hands were folded in front of him, his countenance grim. “Just a small gathering.”

“Wait, dad had a favorite spot?” Allison asked, squinting at him.

“He may have been an asshole,” Klaus said, thinking of the smiling portrait in the storage room and the experience in his heavenly barbershop, “but he wasn’t a sociopath.” Snickering, he folded his arms over his chest, shaking his head. Their entire childhoods were fucking nightmares, as idyllic as their raising appeared to the public before Vanya’s book was originally published. “Dad really sucked, huh?” He asked, and Luther’s face reddened in anger before he visually forced himself to calm down. Maybe Allison’s sudden cold shoulder had managed to get it through his thick skull that physical threats weren’t allowed.

“He was a good man,” Luther protested weakly. He didn’t sound convinced, and everybody looked at their feet awkwardly, unwilling to add insult to injury by openly disagreeing. While the silence was deafening, he was spared more embarrassment by Pogo walking in, hands folded over his walking stick and hunched posture making him even smaller than he already was.

The chimpanzee doctor smiled sadly, glancing between them. “It is about time to say our goodbyes,” he solemnly declared, and when he left the room, the rest of them followed. Luther grabbed the urn of the bar counter, cradling it tenderly, and the sight almost made him sad, although he didn’t have much sympathy left over for Number One. “We’ll head to the courtyard.”

“That’s a good idea,” Allison assured him.

They gathered in a circle, the atmosphere depressing. Even Five had made an appearance, standing with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his Academy shorts. He could see ghosts surrounding his little-big brother, even someone who looked almost like Kennedy, and more than anything, Klaus wanted a smoke. Sadly, he didn’t have a lighter on himself, or any blunts, for that matter.

“Whenever you are ready, dear boy,” Pogo said to Luther.

Luther stepped forwards, opening the urn. Klaus had to keep himself from laughing as he dumped the ashes into a pile of wet leaves. They stared at it and everything it represented, the culmination of an awful childhood and even worse adulthood. Ben stood patiently beside them, and he wondered how much of a disturbance it would create if their deceased brother was suddenly made corporeal and visible. “That, uhm,” he croaked weakly, “probably would’ve been better with some rain.”

No shit, Klaus thought emphatically. A ghost wailed his name, collapsing to its knees and tugging at its hair, but he focused on Luther’s dumping of the ashes instead. It was the second time he’d seen that pathetic display, and it was no less hilarious. “Does anyone want to say a few words?” Pogo asked, voice awfully frail, and just when Klaus thought the silence was going to end, their sister spoke up, surprisingly enough.

“He gave us a home,” Vanya said, “even though it wasn’t a good one.” She glanced between those of them gathered, and as Klaus looked at the others, he saw them confused, evidently not understanding how she could say anything positive about their former home. “I got to grow up with all of you,” she said, “which, considering we originally came from all over the world, that’s pretty amazing.”

“Weren’t you born in Russia?” Allison asked, smile twisting at her lips, and Vanya laughed.

“The USSR, technically,” she said.

“Five was born in Istanbul during a wedding,” Diego croaked. He glanced between the rest of them, and Klaus felt himself relax. Insofar, no knives had been thrown. “And Luther, you were born in Britain, right? On a train.”

“Yeah,” he said with a small chuckle that reminded Klaus of the gentle, if bull-headed leader they once had. Rubbing the back of his neck, he looked sheepish. “And Ben was born during the Winter Olympics to a Korean speed skater who won gold during the same competition.”

“Such bright beginnings,” Klaus sighed wistfully. Ben snorted next to him, rolling his eyes dramatically. He resisted the urge to turn at him and grin, although his family wouldn’t think it was out of the ordinary. “Allison, born in good old Virginia during a religious congregation, and Diego, who was birthed in a church in Tlalnepantla, Mexico.” He laughed. “Who’d have guessed we would end up as murder children?”

“You don’t know who your parents were,” Luther asked him, “huh?”

Nobody did. “Master Klaus was anonymously given to a hospital in East Berlin and put up for adoption,” Pogo said, although it didn’t need repeating. The group fell silent, the atmosphere suddenly growing tense. Klaus really resented Luther, for a lot of reasons.

Klaus exhaled theatrically again, trying to break the tension that had been formed. “My tragic backstory,” he bemoaned, “mein mutter didn’t even want me before the big cash incentive.” His words made several of them crack smiles. He considered it a victory.

“Still,” Vanya continued, “what were the chances that I’d get to call you all my siblings?” She paused, thinking on her words, before cracking a thin-lipped smile. “I mean,” she said, “I know we all hate each other, but...”

“We’ve all been a little rotten to everyone,” Diego said. He folded his arms across his chest, and the expression he wore was tender. Klaus realized then that he hadn’t appreciated Diego enough before, the sweet little mama’s boy that he always had been. “Maybe now that dad’s gone,” he continued, “we can finally be properly there for each other.” Luther scoffed, and Diego glared at him. Klaus felt his stomach twist. “What’s so funny?” Their knife-wielding brother asked, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“We have the time-traveller, the willing spiller of the family secrets,” he gestured aggressively to Vanya, who physically flinched back and away from his hand, “the dead one, a wanna-be vigilante, and a junkie who can see the dead but doesn’t, because he’s constantly too high to be of any use.” Ouch, Klaus thought. Luther had rather obviously left out himself and Allison form the family roster of misfits. He glanced at the statue of Ben, ignoring his ghost, who was looking at him with concern in his eyes that Klaus didn’t need. “This family has only ever been functional when dad was around. He was the only thing we had in common,” he tossed his hands up in surrender, “and now that he’s gone, there’s nothing we share anymore.”

“I did Klaus’ makeup earlier,” Allison corrected, putting her hands on her hips, and Luther blanched. She was always the only one with any amount of sway over him. “Vanya and I have plans to meet up for coffee tomorrow.”

He wondered when that had happened. Probably while he was freaking the fuck out inside of Allison’s bedroom. “I watched Klaus paint this morning,” Vanya said, voice slightly shaky. She was trying to shrink in on herself, and it made him slightly sad to know she felt like she needed to do that, although she was standing up for herself. “He wants me to teach him to play the violin, too.”

“Five and I bonded over sharp shit,” Diego drawled dangerously, and it was so characteristic of him that it made Klaus snort. Always having to be edgy. “We threw knives at a dartboard for half an hour,” he smirked, “although, of course I won that competition.” Five rolled his eyes, but he could still see the smirk dancing at the edges of his lips.

“It seems,” Klaus said, clenching his hands harder around the umbrella handle and allowing his toes to curl in the wet grass, “that the only one with nothing in common is you, Luther.” The expression on his face was one of abashed realization, perhaps the epiphany that he’d been locked away for the better part of a decade and had nothing to show for it. Maybe that was wishful thinking, to imagine him actually having any amount of self-awareness.

“Harsh,” Ben commented, and he rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. It wasn’t as if Luther hadn’t deserved a little clap back.

His hands curled into fists, but he didn’t march up to him like he seemed to want to. It was probably the fact that Allison was watching them with a critical gaze, and after Allison had sided with him earlier, Luther was reluctant to be as aggressive as he had been. “Everything he did,” the blonde oaf said, “he did for the sake of the world. He probably knew about what’s coming, and he was training us to help stop it.”

“So why didn’t he fucking tell us about it?” Klaus asked, lifting his hands and splaying his arms in a helpless manner, grinning manically until his cheeks ached. “Why the fuck wouldn’t he tell us about the end of the fucking world, when we were the ones who would cause it?”

The group stared at him openly, the world silent besides the heavy pattering of rain against the grass, the cement, and the tall walls of the mansion. Five squinted suspiciously, but Grace just smiled serenely. “Would anyone want something to eat?” She asked, oblivious to the awkwardness of the situation at hand, and Vanya shook her head stiltedly.

“We’re good,” their sister croaked, and the smile was abruptly dropped off of their mother’s face.

“Oh,” she said, going quiet.

“How did you know that about our father?” Five asked slowly, and Klaus struggled for an excuse. They wouldn’t believe him if he told them, and at best, they’d think he was just being an attention whore like they always did. A grin spread across his cheeks, and before he could call him out again and potentially guess just how Klaus possessed that knowledge, Klaus gave him a poorly thought out explanation, but an explanation nevertheless.

“I summoned dad.” Vanya’s mouth puckered into an ‘o’ shape, and Luther nodded, still seeming suspicious of him. “He told me about how we were, um,” he said, “born for a greater purpose, amongst other things.” Hugging his stomach, he cradled his bright pink umbrella closer, chuckling nervously. “He killed himself, y’know,” he said, and the rest of them visibly recoiled.

“No,” Luther said, “I don’t believe you.”

“Master Klaus is sadly correct,” Pogo said with a somber tone, “and unfortunately, Grace and I assisted Master Reginald in doing so.” Everything was happening along an accelerated timeline, but maybe that was a good thing. Airing the dirty laundry early, clearing out all the skeletons in their dusty closets before they could come to haunt them. Give and take. “He did it to bring you all back together again,” he said, “because he did indeed know that the future of your world was at stake.”

“But how did you summon him?” Luther said, looking to Klaus.

“Thirty-one days sober, bitches,” he said with a nervous laugh, flashing a peace sign because he always had been an awkward little shit. Ben made an incredulous laugh, rolling his eyes, and he wanted so badly to flip him off. His primate brother’s eyes widened in disbelief, and even though it was a lie, at least he could draw upon his interaction with Reggie from the prior timeline for inspiration on how the old man would’ve acted.

“Could you,” Luther croaked, “could you do it again?”

He shrugged. “It seemed like he said what he needed to say,” Klaus said, “and he’s always been a stubborn bitch.”

“That’s just an excuse,” Luther said, “if you summoned him, he—“

Diego barked a harsh laugh, shaking his head, and Luther fell silent. “That man was a monster,” he drawled, “that never should’ve been allowed to have children.” There were parallels to the old version of events that made Klaus’ stomach squirm. He sincerely hoped it didn’t end in another fistfight.

“Diego—“ Allison tried to say, but their brother cut her off.

“My name is Number Two,” he said, “because the asshole couldn’t be bothered to come up with actual names for us.” Running a hand through his hair, his grin was sharp, words cutting harshly like the knives he always liked to throw. Klaus knew that his sarcasm and wit were his coping mechanisms, the way that he dealt with emotions and thoughts he didn’t want to confront. “He made mom name us, for fuck’s sake.”

“And what good names they were,” Klaus interjected. He had hoped to break the tension, but it didn’t seem to have worked, the two still squaring off against each other, all puffed out chests and machismo. “C’mon,” he whined, “this is a funeral that you’re interrupting!”

They continued ignoring him. “You should stop talking about things you don’t understand,” Luther growled aggressively, voice low, and Diego’s jaw clenched tighter. Everything was becoming a circus so fast, Klaus couldn’t properly process it.

“You should be agreeing with me,” Diego said, “seeing as he shipped you a million miles away so he wouldn’t have to—“

Luther punched him, and Diego stumbled back, throwing his own punch as soon as he caught his balance. Luther charged at him, Diego sidestepping agilely at the last moment, and their shorter brother jumped and kicked Luther with both feet, landing without falling over even as Luther struggled to remain standing. They grabbed each other’s shoulders, grappling roughly, and Klaus could see rage cross Allison’s face.

“Boys, stop it,” she said harshly, but they simply ignored her.

“This is supposed to be dad’s funeral,” Vanya snapped.

Luther shoved Diego away, and Klaus felt his heart skip a beat. He remembered when Luther through him into the hardwood floor of the living room, and with Diego so close to Ben’s statue, he could’ve easily cracked his head against it and, well. Racing forwards, he threw himself in between the two of them while Diego stumbled to his feet. “Luther—“ he started, but his larger brother shoved him sideways.

He caught himself on his hands and knees before he could land in the mud, although he bashed his knee on a rock and his hands scraped along the footpath. He could hear as Ben’s statue fell over, and as he stumbled to his feet, he heard the sound of a knife racing through the air before cutting through fabric. Klaus turned around just in time to see Luther stumble away, and a stress migraine burst to life in the center of his skull, in the area right between his eyes. Pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut, he heard someone curse under their breath.

“Don’t you know when to stop?” Vanya hissed at Diego before she was rushing up to him, Allison following shortly after. Five teleported away, and Diego took hold of mom’s elbow and led her inside. “Klaus,” She said, holding his hands up, “we should get these cleaned.”

“Yeah,” Allison said shakily.

They dragged him into the bathroom, wiping him down and rinsing off his hands. Allison helped him change, his fingers too numb and trembly to be of any help, and she ran him a warm bath before leaving to wash his clothes of the dirt and give him privacy. Sinking into the water, he watched blood from his palms spread in the water, distantly hearing Zoya chattering and fussing over him. Ben had given him privacy, thank fuck.

When her hands actually made contact with his skull, he nearly jerked away, but with a sob erupting from his throat, he let her rinse out his hair, squeezing his eyes shut and pretending she was alive rather than dead. Crying quietly to himself, he didn’t watch while she started massaging shampoo into his hair, and it nearly sent him into a blind panic when she shifted him so his head dipped into the water, leaving his face exposed to the chilly air. He was naked and teary, being bathed by a dead babushka while time marched on towards the end of the world, and when he left the bath, he allowed her to dry him off.

Wandering down the hallway in just his towel, he changed into a set of blue pajamas that he kept tucked away in his closet, the silk grating on his skin. It had been years since he was forced to wear them, but they were comfortable, although for whatever reason, they made his skin itch. Sleepless nights and salty tears seemed to be soaked into the threads, and visions of rolling up the sleeves to stick needles into his arms echoed through his brain awfully, but with them came cuddling with Ben, curling up with a book and a flashlight until sunrise, knitting hats and scarves and sweaters before stuffing his craft supplies underneath his bed. Maybe he would need to pull them out again.

Zoya tucked him in before Ben returned, his brother folding himself up behind him despite not needing to sleep. It had grown dark outside while he bathed, and now, he was simply exhausted. “G’night, Ben,” he mumbled, “spokoinoi nochi, babushka Zoya.”

“Bayushki bayu, Klaus,” she said, and he decided before closing his eyes that he couldn’t be afraid of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, the response to this has been pretty incredible. I’m glad y’all love Zoya! On another note, I love writing Vanya as a violinist because IRL, I’m a violinist, so this gives me an opportunity to nerd out about her. Everybody on TV shows always plays guitar or piano, so it’s nice to have my instrument be represented.
> 
> You can expect this to be a good fifteen chapters at least, meaning 40000+ words, but I have only a rough outline of where I wanna’ take it. I’ve already gotten a few later chapters written up, it’s just getting there that’s going to be difficult.
> 
> Next chapter; Diego finds his brother in a rather precarious situation, and Klaus has to make a ‘difficult’ decision. I’ll have it finished in a couple of days, but I’m notoriously unreliable, so don’t get your hopes too far up? I also will (probably) have something up for another one of my stories.


	4. The Gadfly Suite, Op. 97a: VIII. Romance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klaus spends a little time with his brothers, while Five gets the information he needs.

_He was stuck in the training rooms again. Not the mausoleum this time, but the large dining room that had been converted into a gym of sorts for sparring. The walls loomed over him ominously, the sky that same deep, dark navy with stars twinkling and winking down at him, and the Luther that stood in front of him was monstrous. It was only a gorilla, but somehow he still knew it was Luther, murder in his dark, intelligent eyes and nostrils twitching as he huffed aggressively. Klaus was a teenager again, but while he was dressed in the green tracksuit he always wore for physical training, he was somehow also completely naked at the same time. The sensory input was confusing, contradicting and concerning in its lack of adherence to reality._

_“Battle until the timer stops or one of you is dead,” Reginald said, and this time, he sounded like Cha Cha, the feminine voice hilariously mismatched. An electric grandfather clock stood next to him where he stood on his pillar, banging loudly like knocks on a door every time the hand ticked. It followed no rhythm, the minutes counting down at an imperfect pace as if someone actually was trying to escape from its confines. “You are a guaranteed disappointment, Number Four, always have been, but—“_

“Shit!” He heard barked, and, eyes flying open, he gasped loudly as he fell from the ceiling.

His back connected with the floor, head cracking against his desk on his way down, and he literally bounced, body thumping when he landed. Breath knocked out of him, he struggled to take in air while the intruder, Diego, rushed to his bedside. Helping him sit up and move onto the bed, Klaus leaned against him while he focused on breathing. “Christ on a cracker!” He wheezed pathetically, squinting against the pain in his skull, and Ben snorted, although he was hovering nearby, radiating nervous energy.

“I come in,” Diego said sharply, “and you’re just levitating there, nine or ten feet above the ground.” Klaus blanched, glaring at his brother, but he didn’t seem to be joking about it. Ben started snickering loudly, not trying to disguise his amusement. “Did you know you could, uh, do that?” He asked, voice breaking, and Klaus shook his head, because he really didn’t.

“I’ve been sober for thirty-two days,” he supplied, and just like with Vanya and the rest of their siblings, Diego seemed utterly surprised. He’d believed him the day before, but didn’t seem to have expected him to make it through the night without taking anything. He probably wouldn’t have, if it weren’t for Ben and Zoya comforting and distracting him from his misery. “It makes sense for strange new abilities to start popping up when I’ve been popping pills and snorting shit since I was thirteen.”

“I suppose,” Diego said, slightly worried and very unsure. They sat in silence while he finally regained his breath, head still aching. Diego made him turn around, and whatever he saw made him suck in a worried breath from between his teeth. “You’ve got a n-nasty scrape back there,” he stuttered, “so I’m gonna’ take you down to the infirmary s-so that mom can patch you up.”

Diego’s speech impediment only resurfaced when he was nervous, so whatever he saw had to be bad. Reaching up to touch the back of his head, when he pulled it down to look at it, the entirety of his palm was scarlet. “Ah, shit,” he cursed, suddenly feeling faint at the sight of the warm, sticky liquid. It was like he was at the club all over again, or on the jungle floor in Vietnam, Dave’s blood covering his palms and fingers. It smelled like iron and death, and he swallowed tightly, trying not to lose himself to the flashbacks.

“C’mon,” Diego said, forcibly standing him up, and he followed him obediently out of his room and into the hallway. Diego guided him down the stairs as he desperately tried not to pass out. As they stumbled down the staircase, he took in measured, deep breaths, grateful for his brother’s steadying hands, and before he knew it, he was being laid down on the infirmary bed. It set him back to when he had accidentally shot himself in the foot on his tenth day in Vietnam, being laid up in the infirmary for nearly three weeks afterwards and almost sent home to the States he didn’t even come from. Some of the boys had joked that he’d done it on purpose, while others just thought he was such a ditz that he didn’t know how to hold a weapon even after being taught how.

Well, the joke was on them, because he hadn’t even gone to boot camp!

“Oh, Klaus,” mom clucked, suddenly appearing above him in his swimming field of vision, “what happened?” She fretted as she worked to examine the back of his head, pressing a towel to it firmly as compression to stop the flow of blood and giving him a glass of water, and Diego seemed as surprised as he was that she was functioning completely again. Klaus figured that Pogo didn’t see any point in keeping her basically lobotomized when they knew the secret she was hiding regardless, but he could have other reasons. “Head wounds normally bleed worse than other injuries,” she said, “so on the bright side, it’s not as severe as it initially seemed.”

“Thanks, mom,” he said quietly, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. He could’ve sworn that he’d fallen asleep in his bed, so why hadn’t he fallen onto his welcoming, comfortable bed when he was initially awakened? He would’ve thought he’d just rolled off, it it hadn’t been for Diego’s strange comment about him levitating. Usually it was Klaus that saw the weird shit, not the others, but there was always a time to start. “Diego,” he groaned, “what the fuck happened this morning?”

“I d-don’t, don’t,” he said, struggling to get the words out as his eyes were fixed on Klaus. Diego’s sturdy hands twitched in his lap, fingers twisting nervously, and he reached out and grabbed them to stop him from inevitably progressing to picking at them until they were bleeding, smiling encouragingly at his brother. Occasionally it took time for him to get the words out, but he always knew that what Diego had to say was worth listening to. He took a deep breath, looking away in an abashed manner. “You w-were levitating, or something, I don’t- don’t k-know.“

“Weird,” he muttered to himself. Mom peeled back the towel, and, seemingly content with whatever she saw, she grabbed a bucket, moving to a sink built into the counter along the wall. She filled it with water and brought it over to the bed easily despite its weight, having him sit up fully before setting on a table.

“I’m just going to clean your hair a little, dear,” mom said.

He wondered why everybody was being so tender to him. First with the bonding, then with the makeover and platonic bathing, and now with mom cleaning his hair after he smashed his head into the corner of his desk. Where would the sympathy for him run dry? When they got tired of him being sober and no longer thought he needed a participation award for simply existing without drugs? His hands hurt with how roughly he griped the medical examination bed, watching as she dipped a blue washcloth into the bucket. She lifted it to his head, and he bit his tongue so hard he tasted blood in an effort to keep from dismissing her and saying something he might’ve regretted. As annoying as it was, the impermanence of her tenderness, it was better to have it for a little while than to reject it entirely.

“Have you ever done s-something like this before when we were k-kids?” Diego queried, seeming to have calmed himself down. The words brought Klaus back to reality and the present, and he blinked, shaking his head.

“I didn’t know my powers involved anything besides seeing ghosts,” Klaus said numbly, although it wasn’t entirely truthful. He knew his abilities included being unable to die and making spirits corporeal, but with this newfound ability to fucking levitate, it was concerning to think about the fact that he really didn’t know what else he could be capable of. He’d put his abilities under lock and key like Vanya had, although his sister was an unwilling victim, and now, he was regretting it strongly. “Sobriety is kicking my ass,” he said ruefully, and Diego laughed, shaking his head.

“Whatever reason you got sober for, I’m thankful that I don’t have to worry about you overdosing in some alleyway,” he said, and Klaus’ heart twisted a little. The words were joking with an undercurrent of pain, like they were wounds that didn’t quite heal right. He didn’t know if he should tell him that it was never a concern in the first place. “Anyways,” he continued, “I heard from Vanya earlier this morning that Five fucked off to who knows where. Something about an eyeball?”

Klaus was glad that it sounded like Vanya and Diego were on speaking terms again. Maybe one of them had apologized? Regardless, their murderous baby brother was likely at that prosthetic lab again and trying to discover who the eyeball belonged to, although Klaus had the hindsight to know that it wouldn’t belong to Leonard Peabody, also known as Harold Jenkins, for at least another few days, if it would even end up belonging to him. There was a chance that he wouldn’t lose an eye, and Five would end up hunting down whoever the poor sod was who got it instead. Wincing, he wondered whether he should just spill everything to Five, but even if his brother believed him, it would take away the little control over the situation that he had.

“I, uh,” he groaned, “I think I know where he went.”

Diego hummed in acknowledgement, still remaining at his side even as their mom packed up her first aid kit and shepherded them out of the room with a kiss on each of their brows before turning and shutting the doors behind them. The expression on Diego’s face was longing, as if he wanted nothing more than to stay with their mother all day. Sighing, he grabbed Klaus by the elbow, steering him towards the staircase. Ben followed after him, if only because he was the only one who could see him and he’d be bored in his absence.

“C’mon,” Diego said, “get dressed. We’re heading out to see a friend of mine. I left a crime scene early last night to check on you, so I need to confer with her on a couple of things.”

“Alrighty-o,” Klaus agreed, despite his annoyance with Diego’s executive decision on that one. He and Luther had a lot of the same quirks and habits, and that included being control freaks. Rushing upstairs, he slipped on a bright pair of salmon pink cargo pants and a white blouse, sticking his feet into a pair of tacky flip-flops. Checking his alarm clock, he couldn’t believe he’d slept in until noon. When he headed back downstairs and outside to the alley outside of the family compound, Diego ducked into the driver’s seat of his car, and Klaus hopped into the passenger seat, Ben sliding in behind them and stretching across the area in the back. “So,” he drawled, “which friend?”

“You’ll see,” Diego dismissed, pulling out of the alleyway. He resigned himself to not getting an immediate answer. When his stabby brother wanted to be vague and mysterious, no amount of harassment would get him to just say what he meant for once.

They drove through the city, and Klaus watched the world outside as they passed. There was an exciting moment that they ran through a ghost he briefly thought was a person, and he’d grabbed onto the steering wheel to swerve away, but Diego forgave him shockingly quickly when he reminded him that he was thirty-two days off drugs and the ghosts looked as realistic as normal people. There were perks to the clean life, he thought, even as he itched at the ruined crook of his elbow.

When they pulled up to the police station, his heart skipped a beat before he remembered that he hadn’t done anything to get in trouble. Diego was being nice to him, even! But that didn’t preclude a sudden, unwarranted arrest. He could be trying to force him back into rehab or something. “I plead the fifth,” he said with an awkward laugh, trying to gauge the situation, but Diego simply chuckled at the joke.

“You’re not in trouble,” his brother assured him. He grabbed him by the same elbow, pulling him towards the entrance, and when they walked in, he tried to make himself look as inconspicuous as possible.

They received a few odd glances, both having their fair share of arrests, and he recognized the vast majority of officers from his hazy memories of imprisonments, detainments, and overdoses. He remembered that one cop with her feet on the desk was the one who questioned him as a witness to a murder, while the one with five cups of coffee balanced in his arms was the one that needlessly compressed a stab wound for fifteen minutes that probably wasn’t even a fatal wound, seeing as intestines tended to just shift to accommodate sharp things and puncturing tools. He should know, seeing as his stomach has seen its fair share of homemade prison shanks and screwdrivers. Klaus was just glad that the scars faded quickly, leaving his dewy complexion unmarred.

“Detective Patch!” Diego shouted, disturbing several officers at their desk and making one man drop his pastry onto the floor, and a woman sitting in a chair turned to loom at him from where she’d been hunched over a collection of bloody weapons in plastic bags and what looked like crime reports. There were several ghosts clustered around her, one an obvious robber with pantyhose over his head who was screaming obscenities at her, shaking a fist pointlessly. Klaus already knew that he’d be a pain to ignore. “What did I miss from last night’s investigation?” He asked, and the woman scoffed. She seemed familiar, but he couldn’t quite place her face.

“Nothing,” she said, “because you’re not on the case. I am.” Klaus liked her gusto, although Diego groaned in annoyance. The detective rolled her eyes at his childish display, starting to put evidence into a cardboard box. “I know you questioned my witness last night,” she said, “and the next time you tamper with witnesses or evidence, I’m going to need to arrest you.”

“Just tell me,” he said, “who’s your suspect?” Diego leaned back against a wooden desk, fairly obviously trying to sneak a peak at the contents of the evidence box. “Because ten highly trained mercenaries don’t just massacre themselves out of the blue.”

She squinted suspiciously at him, but seemed to decide there was no harm in answering that question. “Well, the only living witnesses we have on record were the doughnut shop owner, a tow truck driver, and his teenage son,” she said with a long-suffering sigh, “and we have a knife with prints that date back to a 1938 cold case, so...”

“Did you manage to ID any of the shooters?” Diego queried, and she shook her head.

“One of them had dental records that matched a man from the early forties,” she said, “and another’s DNA turned up positive as a first degree relative of someone born in the early nineteenth century, but besides that, we don’t have a clue where these guys came from.”

They fell silent, and his brother stared down at his feet, mouth pulled taut. He didn’t seem satisfied with her answer. “Eudora,” Diego said, and Klaus watched as she pointedly raised a brow at him, “you should let me help.”

Sighing, Detective Eudora Patch, as she was called, rubbed at her eyes, clearly exasperated by his brother’s antics. “Diego,” she said, “I know that you’re just trying to help, but there’s a procedure to this in order to put the bad guys away.” She picked up something that looked like a rabbit’s foot off of the desk, twisting it around in her fingers. “You don’t need to prove that your childhood spent running around in masks wasn’t for nothing.” Glancing at Klaus, finally seeming to recognize his presence, she frowned, looking like she was trying to place his face. “Aren’t you Diego’s brother?” She asked, and he beamed.

“Klaus Hargreeves,” he said with a wave, “another washed up child celebrity in the flesh!”

Patch snorted, shaking her head. “Nice to meet you, Klaus,” she said. It felt good to have a law enforcement officer not immediately try to handcuff him for once in his life. Looking back to Diego, she smiled softly, the expression fond and somewhat pitying. “Now,” Patch said, “you should get out before I arrest you again.”

Diego rolled his eyes, moving from where he had been leaning on a desk, but he didn’t seem resentful. “Just saying that you should try things my way for once,” he said.

“Bye, Diego,” was her only response, and with that, Diego led them out of the police department.

“That went well,” Klaus said. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he walked ahead of Diego and spun on his heel, walking backwards as he continued his march to the car. “The kid at the doughnut place massacre was pretty obviously Five,” he said, and Ben gasped in faux surprise. While Diego opened up the door to the driver’s side of the vehicle, Klaus hopped into the passenger seat. Diego gave him a skeptical look as he sat down, shaking his head.

“I don’t see what he has to do with that,” he said.

Klaus shrugged. “Well,” he huffed, “Five time travelled, right?” Diego nodded slowly in confirmation, eyes narrowing. “Then it makes sense that prints he might’ve left in 1938,” he stuck out his index fingers, “could’ve been matched to one he left last night. Also,” he continued, dropping his hands into his lap, “it sounded like the suspects were time travelers, seeing as they couldn’t be traced through their DNA.”

“Shit,” Diego said, pinching his brow, “that actually does make sense.” After a moment, he stuck the key in the ignition and twisted, turning on the car. It rumbled to life, lights turning on, and he pulled off of the sidewalk and into the road, driving in the direction of their home. “So what,” he said, “we’ve got time traveling mercenaries hunting after our brother?”

“Probably,” he dismissed. The answer was yes, but he couldn’t let Diego know exactly how he had that information. “Honestly, the best thing to do would be to ask him,” Klaus said, throwing up his hands. Ben snickered from where he was lounging lazily in the back seat. “This family has horrible communication issues,” Diego winced, “but if we just talked to each other for once, maybe we’d get actual answers.”

When the car stopped, he jumped outside, stretching out his arms.

“Hey, Five,” Diego started, “did you—“

“I need your help, Klaus,” Five interrupted, grabbing him by the wrist and dragging him towards the staircase. Shrugging helplessly at Diego, he knew what Five was going to propose, but went along with it anyways. When Five teleported them from the ground floor up into their father’s bedroom, it was a small surprise, but while he stumbled, he caught his balance before he fell on his face. “I’m trying to find the owner of a glass eye,” he said sternly, “and I need you to pretend to be my parental figure.”

“What’s my incentive?” Klaus asked, because while he wouldn’t need rug money, he would need cash in general until the inheritance money kicked in. He had mooched off of the food Pogo kept in the kitchen and basement dining room, but if he needed anything else, he would run out of his forty three dollars and seventeen cents pretty fast.

He rolled his eyes. “I’ll give you twenty dollars for heroin, or whatever else—“

“Hey,” he said, throwing his hands up, “I’m not about that shit anymore.”

Five gave him a skeptical look, slipping his hands into his pockets. His posture was so clearly that of an old man, but it was hard to imagine him with a bushy beard and grey hair and wrinkles. “You’re clean right now?” He asked, and Klaus nodded. Sticking out his bottom lip, Five’s brows raised in surprise, and he smiled. “Congrats,” he drawled, “and the offer still stands.”

“It’s a deal,” Klaus said. Smiling, he extended a slim, bony hand, wiggling his fingers. “Gimme’ some skin?” Five gave it a skeptical glance towards the digits before returning the handshake, his grip firm. Pulling back afterwards, he teleported to the doorway.

“Change into something,” he gave him a once-over, “more presentable.”

With a wounded noise from Klaus, he closed the door, and Klaus moved towards their father’s closet, opening the doors up and looking inside. It was a whole lot of grays and blacks, but when he spotted the same pinstriped suit he’d worn the last time, he settled and removed its hangar from the rack, laying it over a plush armchair and starting to strip down. Normally he didn’t like reusing looks, but it was the only thing in the closet he could tolerate. He was lucky that he and the old man shared similar builds, although he was noticeably more skinny and muscular.

When he emerged from the bedroom, Five did another once-over of his outfit before nodding. “Acceptable,” he muttered to himself. When he grabbed his hand and teleported them, they ended up outside the same prosthetics lab, and he remembered how it had gotten burnt to the ground by Hazel and Cha Cha the first time they’d been there. “What I need you to do,” he began explaining, “is insist that the man in the building turn over the identity of the eyeball’s owner.” Pulling him forwards, they headed up a short set of stairs and inside, immediately moving towards the elevator. “Do whatever you need to do,” he said, and Klaus saluted, hoping he wouldn’t need to smash a snow-globe into his forehead again to do it.

Five pushed the button for the third floor, and the doors closed, pleasant music playing as they moved up in the building. While they were the only people in the elevator, the ghosts that tended to follow Five around were crowding him, even Ben finding it uncomfortable to stand in the small chamber. Somebody’s gory arm was phasing through his body, and he was glad that, for the most part, it was a conscious effort to make ghosts tangible, because of it wasn’t for that, he would be having more than an internal freak out.

When they stepped into the lobby, he gulped in the cold, sterile air, not having realized he was holding his breath. The spirits spread out, talking to themselves or screaming angrily at his brother, and he made a pitiful attempt at ignoring them, trying to plug his ears as subtly as possible and wishing he had his headphones with him. It was so much easier the last time, when he had some painkiller or anxiety med or another in his bloodstream to filter them out for him. He wished he’d taken a bottle of vodka or something with him. While he’d sworn off the drugs, drinking occasionally wasn’t going to be entirely eliminated from his options, at least until he could finally figure out how to banish the spirits entirely, if that was even possible.

They approached the secretary’s desk, and when she looked at Five, her eyes widened in recognition. Her hand moved towards what was likely a security button on the underside of the desk, before it retracted. Her mistake. “We’d like to talk to Vance, please,” Five said, and she nodded slowly, pointing towards her right.

“He’ll be in his office,” she stuttered out, clearly nervous.

Five started heading in that direction, and he followed. Klaus resisted the urge to sidestep the ghost of a woman with a bullet hole in in her chest, red staining her lacy nightgown, and instead passed directly through her. He shivered at the cold that washed over him. “Thank you,” Five said.

They walked inside, and the man, Vance, released an irritated sigh when they entered, setting down the book he had been reading. “What can I do for you, sir?” He asked, voice clipped, and Klaus took a seat, Five sitting down next to him at the desk.

Five removed the glass eyeball from his pocket, placing it on the wooden desk while it wobbled on the hard surface. “Well,” he said, “my son and I are just here to ask that you give us the name of this here eyeball’s owner.”

“Well, as I told your son earlier,” Vance said, “all information about any of our prosthetics is—“

“Strictly confidential, I know.” Standing, he placed both his hands on his hips, looking down at him with a condescending expression. A man with a slit across his throat started screaming, blood bubbling out of his mouth alongside his garbled, indecipherable words as he shouted vulgarities at Klaus and Five, talking about how he’d strangle them himself, kill their families, etcetera, etcetera. Standard vengeful ghost things. “But you see,” he said, “I’ve been trying to encourage my son’s caring nature, and by returning the eye to its rightful owner, perhaps it can show him and you how wonderful it feels to help others!” Leaning forwards, he batted his eyelashes innocently. “You wouldn’t want to deny a child a learning moment, right?” He asked, pouting.

Vance was unamused. “I’m sorry sir, but—“

Slamming his hands down on the desk, Vance started, jerking backwards in his seat while his eyes widened. Even the ghost flinched, suddenly going quiet, much to Klaus’ surprised pleasure. He knew this was a pointless endeavor, but it would steer Five in the right direction, because he got the name in the end, although he didn’t know exactly how he did it. “Listen to me,” he rasped, “I don’t have any time to spare for this shit. Give it to me, name now, please.”

He heard Five curse under his breath, and the doctor’s eyes were darting everywhere, pupils constricted as sweat beaded on his forehead. Klaus spared a glance to the side, and when he saw the objects on the desk hovering several inches above its surface, computer and prosthetic eye included, his jaw dropped. “Wow,” Ben said behind him, voice muted, and he released an incredulous laugh. He knew he could levitate, but he didn’t realize that it carried over to being able to float other things.

“Are you seeing this?” He asked, pointing towards the raised objects.

“Uh, yes, s-sir,” he stuttered, quickly moving to reach inside a drawer. Five had a smug grin on his face, eyes sparkling. “I’ll get t-that name for you, just please,” he was avoiding making direct eye contact with him by looking down at his chin, Klaus noticed, “please, don’t hurt me.” Sitting down on the desk, Klaus watched as Vance grabbed the eye, looking at the serial number on the back before he started flipping through the pages. When he arrived at the proper page, he wetted his lips, brows furrowing. “That’s funny,” he said, and Five leaned forwards.

“What?” He asked.

“That eye hasn’t been purchased, and,” he blinked, “it hasn’t even been produced yet.” Looking up, he pointedly didn’t look at Klaus. “Where did you find it, again?” He asked, and Klaus sighed. He knew Five wouldn’t want to give a truthful answer to that question. It was frustrating, having known that he wouldn’t get a name anyways, but not being able to do anything about it.

“C’mon,” he sighed, “you don’t even sell things off the record?” Vance swallowed, and he realized that he must’ve guessed that accurately. The first time, he hadn’t thought that Vance might’ve been doing something illegal with his prosthetics. “Oh-ho,” he said, “I’ve touched a nerve there, huh?”

Vance fumbled in his drawer again, and this time, he inputted a password into a safe tucked neatly inside. Opening it, he glanced around before pulling out a separate binder, checking inside. After a moment, he showed the paper inside to them, pointing at an address. “Here,” he said, “it was sold to this hospital yesterday as part of an off the books sale. It likely doesn’t have an owner yet.”

“Thank you for your time,” Five said. Taking out a notepad, he opened it to a blank page and, grabbing a pen from off Vance’s desk, he transcribed the address onto the paper. When he grabbed onto Klaus’ wrist, he dragged him back outside. He noticed that all of the ghosts had fallen silent, including Ben, who trailed after them mutely.

When they arrived outside, Five sat down on the stairs, looking down at the address. “So whoever the eye belongs to,” he said, “will lose an eye sometime between today and the end of the week.” Fishing in his pocket, he removed a twenty from his pocket, and Klaus plucked it from between his fingers happily, kissing Andrew Jackson’s face and tucking it into his pocket. “I’ll just have to check in periodically to see if someone there’s lost an eye, then.” It was a mission success for Klaus. If Five was there when, well, if Leonard/Harold arrived, then he’d be able to stop the apocalypse then and there. He’d figure out that Vanya was being used, and stop it before she could snap. “Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he said, standing, “I’m going to pay them a visit.”

He teleported away, and Klaus breathed a sigh of relief when his spirits followed him, being left only with the ghost that wandered the streets. “That went well,” Ben commented, sitting down next to him.

“Yep,” he agreed. Perhaps it was time to pay Vanya a visit. While there was a chance that he could mess everything up, she definitely met her slime-ball boyfriend sometime before Klaus travelled back to Vietnam. It wouldn’t hurt to go see her, he figured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not my favorite chapter, but I was having some difficulty with Episode 2’s timeline. The next time, you’re gonna’ get some Vanya action and more Zoya (you’ll see how those are connected), so there’s that. This is turning out to be a little monster of its own, so I might turn this into a series and split up the story a little bit so that you get pre-Vietnam, during Vietnam, and post-Vietnam. That way, I can also make optional intermissions, just to show other perspectives and stuff.
> 
> Has anyone been listening to the songs that I’ve been putting in the chapter titles? Just some theme music for while you listen that I think is fitting. I write by listening to music and using it as inspiration, so those songs are the ones that inspired each individual chapter, kind of? It’s a lot of classical violin and piano pieces. I might eventually put my Spotify playlist link on here, if I can figure out how to do it.
> 
> On a final note, here’s your daily reminder to drink some water. It doesn’t matter if you just drank some, drink some more. Lots of issues can be solved by drinking plenty of water!


	5. Liebesleid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vanya joins the club, and it’s confession time for Klaus, who has procrastinated long enough.

While he considered hailing a taxi, the walk from the lab to Vanya’s apartment wasn’t all that long, and it would be easier to chat with Ben without the added complication of having a driver in the front seat to think that he was crazy and talking to himself, or worse, high out of his mind. He didn’t need the police or social services called on him again when he didn’t actually need them. With his hands tucked into his pockets and brown curls tousled by the wind, he took in the spring weather, strolling down the sidewalk and wishing that he had chapstick or a scarf to protect his lips from getting dry and chapped.

“You haven’t eaten since yesterday,” Ben pointed out, and he groaned. With all the excitement of the morning and afternoon, he’d forgotten that sustenance was a thing that he needed. As if stirred by the reminder, his stomach yowled angrily. “Are we heading to that diner by the salon?” He asked. “Or home, for waffles and eggs? Maybe the doughnut shop.”

His brother always lived vicariously through him when it came to food. Not being able to eat it himself, it was the best he could do to watch Klaus consume whatever meal he was forced to have. When he was younger, it was always mom who was making him join the rest of his siblings for mealtimes, but as he grew older and moved out, it started to just be whoever his case manager was at the time, or whichever prison guard or police officer was put in charge of making sure he didn’t die in captivity. Occasionally, he would give in to Ben’s cajoling, too annoyed by both his brother’s whining and the grumbling of his stomach to avoid the hassle of dumpster diving, or spending what little money he possessed on actual necessities rather than drugs.

“Neither,” he chirped merrily. Ben raised an eyebrow questioningly. “We’re heading to Vanya’s,” he explained, “just to pay her a visit. Maybe she’ll feed us, I don’t know.” She always had been a good chef, ever since they were little. In the absence of a superpower to train, Vanya had studied a wide variety of other areas of learning, from music to cooking and writing. Things that Reggie had never thought the rest of them should focus on, although regardless of his fixation on their powers, they still got a well-rounded education.

Ben seemed assuaged by his answer, and they walked in companionable silence for several blocks. Despite his poor habits and drug abuse, he always had been in possession of a great memory, and he could remember which alleyways he’d overdosed in, and the haunts that each of his dealers tended to lurk around as he passed them. It would be so easy to slip back into his old habits, and considering how Dave had never tried to convince him to get clean during his time in Vietnam, he knew logically that he wouldn’t be disappointing the love of his life. But beyond that, he genuinely wanted his siblings to take him seriously. It had been years since anyone had trusted his word, and now, with at least Diego, Vanya, and Allison starting to have faith in him again, he couldn’t afford screwing up.

Besides, if he was going to stop the apocalypse and not just be a damn lookout again, he was going to need to be at full power, wherever that limit was. He didn’t want to read too much into what he’d done with his powers, both in his sleep with the levitation and in the office with the telekinetic outburst, but he had a morbid fascination with just how far he could take it.

Finding himself outside of Vanya’s apartment building, he looked up towards where he knew her apartment was, and could see multiple figures moving around behind the sheer curtains of her living room window. It was a difficult choice between heading up to her floor normally and scaring the living shit out of her and whoever her guest was by scaling the fire escape, but in the end, he decided that if she was with a child or her boss or something, he didn’t want to disrupt more than necessary. So, he headed inside and, seeing an ‘out of service’ sign on the elevator, he started his long hike up the stairs with a melancholy sigh. It felt dreadfully boring, but at least Vanya wouldn’t be mad at him for appearing at her apartment unannounced and breaking in.

“Thanks for taking the normal route for once,” Ben said, both condescending and genuinely appreciative at the same time, and he wasn’t sure whether to feel flattered or offended. He settled for flipping him off, and Ben laughed at the gesture, swiping at his head playfully despite the fact that the limb passed harmlessly through his body.

But no matter who she was with before, by the time he arrived, knocking at the door, there was nobody with Vanya in the apartment. Well, besides Zoya Popova standing in her living room, oddly enough. “You should’ve let me know you were coming over,” she said, “or else I’d have a lunch made for us, or something.” He had been worried that she wouldn’t like him showing up unannounced, but all she wanted was to be a good hostess. Klaus was quietly relieved by that, even if he still felt guilty. “Can I get you something to eat?” She asked, but before he could answer, Zoya walked up to him with an excited expression, reaching up and hovering her hands around his arm like she was going to try tugging on his sleeve.

“This is my great-granddaughter,” she said, gesturing towards Vanya, and Klaus blanched.

“Why d’ya say that, Zoya?” He asked cautiously in Russian, and he knew that Vanya was looking at him weird, but she also wasn’t trying to interrupt him. She had been obsessed with his ghosts in the period of time between when Allison rumored her and when Klaus started self-medicating. Since she knew that he was sober, she had to know he was talking to a spirit. “I mean,” he said, “when did you even die? The sixties? Seventies.”

“Nineteen eight-nine,” she said, and he noted that it was the year that the seven of them were born in. Pulling away from him, she stood next to Vanya, looking at her like she was the moon and stars. Vanya didn’t acknowledge her presence, but that was to be expected. “She looks just like my daughter and granddaughter,” she said wistfully. Tugging at her skirts, her weathered hands were shaky. “Same nose, same face,” Zoya continued, “same beautiful eyes...”

Vanya had been born in the USSR, which included Russia, so geographically, it checked out okay. If Zoya had been killed by the Commission and was actually Vanya’s great-grandmother, that could be problematic. The time-traveling organization was dead-set on causing the apocalypse, so was she murdered because she would’ve taken Vanya instead, and Reginald never would’ve gotten his hands on her? It was unlikely, but would make sense. With how desperately he was trying to stop the apocalypse, and how successful he had been at changing the timeline already, would they try killing him? They were already after Five.

“Hey, uh, Vanya,” he said slowly, “don’t freak out, but your great-grandma’s here, I guess?”

“Natalya,” Zoya said like a prayer. Her gaze was warm and fond. “That had to be her mother, my only granddaughter.”

Vanya was staring at him like he’d grown a second head, and he shrugged helplessly at her. “She says your mother’s name was Natalya,” he continued, and she nodded jerkily, “and that you have beautiful eyes.”

“What’s her name?” Vanya asked.

“Zoya Popova,” both he and Zoya said at the same time, and she nodded. Ben had his hands clasped over his mouth while he watched them interact in fascination. He was staying quiet, but Klaus could tell that he was itching to say something.

Nodding again, Vanya hugged herself. “Where is she?” She asked, and he gestured to the area next to her that he knew she would perceive as empty. Her head turned, and she looked at where Zoya stood, swallowing nervously. “It’s, um,” she croaked, “nice to meet you.”

“Tell her that she looks just like her mother,” Zoya insisted.

“She says you look just like your mother,” Klaus parroted, and the corner of Vanya’s lips twitched upwards in the barest hint of a smile.

“Good to know,” she said amusedly, and Zoya brightened. Turning to Klaus, she smiled warmly, seemingly having opened up. “I’m serious,” she said, “is there anything you’d like to eat or drink? I ave tea.”

“Tea sounds great,” he said.

She moved over to the counter, and he narrated as Zoya sat in the armchair, expression serene. Pulling two mugs form her cupboard, one with vivid zig-zags and stripes and another that was medium blue with stars, he watched her fill a kettle with water and set it up so that it started boiling. “What would you like?” She asked.

“Do you have peppermint?” He queried.

“Yeah.” Walking over to him, she sat down on her couch, eyes repeatedly flicking over to where she knew Zoya was sitting. He sat cross-legged next to her on the furniture, and she shifted so that her knees were pointed in his direction, held close together like she was afraid of taking up space in her own home. In a surprisingly bold move, she reached out and grabbed his hands, rubbing her thumbs over the backs of them. “I’m glad we’ve been spending more time together,” Vanya said shyly, a blush spreading across her face. A small, tentative smile had spread across her lips, and he squeezed her hands harder. She tightened her grip in response, and Zoya held a hand up to her face, moved by their heart-to-heart. Ben was wearing a wide, proud grin, and he would be embarrassed by it if he wasn’t the only one in the family who could see ghosts and specters. “I mean,” she said, “I know that I wrote in my book that after Ben died, there was nothing holding us together anymore. But we never really...” she waved their joint hands in a frustrated manner, searching for the right words, “tried. To remain a family, that is.”

“Dad was always a roadblock to healing,” Klaus croaked. Vanya nodded somberly, humming in agreement. “With him around,” he continued, “we couldn’t really move on, but now that he’s dead and gone, maybe his ghost can’t haunt us anymore.” He paused, recognizing the immense irony of his own words. “So to speak.”

She laughed at his lame joke, shaking her head as her ponytail bounced. A timer went off in the kitchen, and he knew it was the water for his tea. Their fingers being laced together, she brought them up to her lips, pressing a brief kiss to them before sliding off the couch and standing up, releasing him. “I’m just glad he isn’t here to exclude me anymore,” she said. Pouring the water from the kettle into the mugs, she grabbed the box of peppermint tea that he’d requested and opened the cardboard flap. Pulling out a bag, she dropped it into the mug with a splash, and soon after, its aroma was drifting towards Klaus. She grabbed a green tea bag and placed it into her own mug, and the clashing scents mixed pleasantly. “You and Allison have been making a real effort to include me in everything,” she said, “so it isn’t like how it was before, with the mission or the tattoos, or anything else.”

She brought the mug over to him, sitting down on her couch again shortly after, and he cradled it gently, fingertips being burned on the ceramic, although he didn’t really mind. Cigarettes burned his fingertips worse. Vanya’s fingers, as calloused as they were from her playing, held her own mug firmly, and if she was bothered by the heat as she took a brave sip of the scalding liquid, she didn’t let it show. “Would you like to make up for the past?” He asked, and she raised an eyebrow. “I have a tattoo parlor that I liked,” he said, waving his ‘hello’ hand, “and we could go out, get you your own umbrella.” She gaped at him in surprise, and he grinned back. “It used to represent his control over us,” he said, “but now, it can just represent what we’ve been through as a family.“

Vanya looked almost on the verge of crying, and she hid her wobbly lips in her mug, taking a long swig of the liquid. Klaus took a tentative sip, immediately retracting when it touched his sensitive skin and blowing on the tea to cool it down. She swallowed down both the liquid and her tears, cradling the cup in her lap. “If it wouldn’t be insensitive,” she said, “I mean, with the things you all went through, the others—“

“You’ve been through just as much as we have,” Klaus pointed out, and Vanya closed her lips, rubbing self-consciously at her wrist. He remembered her hand-drawn tattoo, etched onto her skin with a pen instead of a needle, and, drinking more of his tea, he sighed into his mug. “You’re just as much a member of the Umbrella Academy as we are,” he insisted once he peeled the tea away from his face and swallowed the liquid in his mouth. Its taste was refreshing.

“You’ve always had a way with words,” Vanya said, wiping at her eyes. Eyelids red and puffy, she smiled sheepishly, standing. He didn’t realize when she polished off her tea, but she set her empty patterned mug down on her coffee table, hugging herself around the waist. “Well,” she puffed, looking towards the plush armchair where Zoya still sat, “I’ve loved getting a chance to communicate with you.”

“Likewise, love,” Zoya said.

“She says the same,” he translated. Vanya blushed. “So are you coming to the tattoo parlor with me to get inked?” He asked, and she nodded shyly.

“I’d like that,” she said.

Their siblings might be angry, especially Diego, because of his resentment of the Academy, or Luther, because of his long-standing dedication to the same organization, but as the only one knowledgeable of future events, it was his responsibility to ensure that Harold/Leonard couldn’t alienate her from the rest of them. Finishing his own steaming tea, wincing as it scalded his throat on the way down, he set down the mug.

“Then let’s go get you your first tattoo,” he said, standing up and putting his hands on his hips, and she laughed.

The journey to the parlor was a long one, but they passed the time by talking, exchanging anecdotes with the occasional input from Zoya. He could tell that Ben was irritated by not being able to talk to Vanya, but there was nothing he could do about it, seeing as every time he told any of them about Ben, he’d been accused of faking it for attention. Because that was who he was — Klaus the pity seeker, Klaus the attention whore.

They walked into the shop together, the bell above the door ringing, and an artist was immediately on them, clearly having been waiting for a customer. It was Maggie again, with her nose ring and bright red headband, and she gave him a hug, muscular arms welcoming. She was more ripped than he was, at least in his current incarnation. Post-Vietnam, he was almost more bulky than Diego, although his brother still had him beat. “How’re you doing, Klaus?” She asked as they separated, and he clicked his tongue.

“Fantastic as ever,” he said, and she gave him a sympathetic smile. Oftentimes, he hung around her shop even if he wasn’t getting anything, and she liked him both because the customers found him comforting, and because he made some pretty damn good stencils for the shop. “We’re not here for me, though,” he explained. Maggie looked at Vanya while he pushed her forwards, and his sister looked like she wanted to disappear. “She’s my second sister, Vanya,” he said, “and since she didn’t get the umbrella tattoo when we were kids, I decided that now was the time she should be indoctrinated.”

Maggie laughed. “Is this your first ti:e getting tattooed?” She asked, and Vanya nodded shyly. “Well, I’ll get you settled in a chair, then.”

Taking Vanya over to a leather chair, Maggie settled her in with a pat on the shoulder, grabbing some waiver forms. “Since I haven’t paid you for your last few designs, Klaus,” she said, “consider this one on the house.“

“Thanks, Mags,” he said, smiling crookedly. “If this one’s on the house, I might as well get something done, too.”

“Oh?” Raising an eyebrow, she handed the stack of papers to Vanya, grabbing a piece of paper and a pen for Klaus. She knew him well enough to recognize he’d want to do his own design. “Just fill these out while I get my supplies ready,” she instructed, and Vanya nodded.

While she left, he started sketching, knowing exactly what he’d want done. A little violin, just for his sister, although he wouldn’t let her know what it was until it was finished. Vanya signed the paperwork with a shaky hand, and when she finished, she set it down on the table next to her, rubbing her legs nervously. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she exhaled, shaking her head, and he laughed.

“You should’ve had it done a long time ago,” he assured. Extending his arm, he rubbed her shoulder, noticing how she leaned into the touch. “You’ve always been a part of the family,” he said, “and this’ll just be a physical representation of that.” He never liked the tattoo before, but knowing how much it symbolized how Vanya was ‘the other,’ the idea of them both having it was appealing. It symbolized just how much all of them had been put through as children, and with Reginald gone, it would be one step towards healing to let go of the baggage associated with it.

Vanya was tearing up again, and so he let her go, going back to his tattoo design. He finished with the simple violin just as Maggie returned, and when she had him extend his arm so she could copy the design, he set it face-down on the table next to him. “Alright,” she said, “I’m going to disinfect the area before we begin. Are you allergic to rubbing alcohol?”

Vanya shook her head, so the artist took a pre-packaged cotton swab and started rubbing down her inner wrist, pale blue nitrile gloves stretched around her delicate hands. She tossed it when she was finished, and grabbed a razor, starting to shave the area. “I don’t have any hair there,” Vanya pointed out, brow furrowed, and Maggie nodded.

“This is just to get rid of the peach fuzz,” she explained. Setting the razor down, she disinfected the area a second time, tossing all the packaging and trash into her bin afterwards. “Even that can get in the way of the design.” Prepping her tattoo gun, she started to ready the ink. “Now, sweetheart,” she said, “are you certain you want this design and placement?”

“Yes,” Vanya said immediately, squeezing her eyes shut.

“Breath for me, and hold still,” Maggie instructed. Vanya took a deep breath, opening her eyes as the first line was made, and although she flinched, her eyes widened in surprise afterwards.

“That wasn’t too bad,” she admitted. Klaus hummed in agreement. “It still hurts, though.”

“Inner wrist is one of the worse areas, pain-wise,” Maggie said, and Klaus had to agree. On the palms was the worst for him, with the temple he had done before he traveled back in time on his breastbone and stomach hurt the second most. She jerked her head towards her full-sleeves, designs mostly of birds and floral prints. “I have one on my back,” she continued, “and along the spine is definitely the worst, in my opinion.”

Maggie finished with the tattoo in remarkable time, starting to clean her workspace so he could take her place. His sister gazed in amazement at the tattoo, tracing the skin around it but not touching it. When Maggie was finished, she bandaged it up, taping it down. The tattoo was obscured, but while it wasn’t as pretty, it was better than having plastic wrap like some amateur artists used.

“Alright,” she said, “now it’s time for aftercare.” Moving Vanya out of the seat, she switched places with Klaus while he sat down in her place. It was warm, the heat of the leather being felt through his suit, and he reached down to roll up his pant leg, exposing his ankle. He winked at Maggie, and she rolled her eyes, used to his antics. “Here’s your written instructions,” she said, handing Vanya a piece of paper and starting to prep new, clean needles, “which describe it as well. Make sure you leave the bandages on for at least two hours, and wash it with lukewarm water and antibacterial soap afterwards with your hand and pat it dry. Don’t use Neosporin, and wash it regularly, but not too often.”

Maggie finished giving her instructions just as the needle touched his inner ankle, and he smiled through the sting, long having moved past having a fear of needles. He watched while she worked, seeing the lines of his new little tattoo take form, and it was nice, knowing he had something of Vanya being put onto his body permanently. When she finished with the coloring and shading, he flashed his finished tattoo towards Vanya, whose lips pulled upwards farther than he thought possible. Maggie bandaged him up, talking over his attempts to tell her that he already knew the aftercare instructions. He handed her twenty-five dollars, cheap both because of his special discount pricing and the fact that it was only a couple inches across, and she patted him on the shoulder while they stood up.

Someone walked in through the front door, and she clicked her tongue. “Would love to stay and chat,” she said, “but unfortunately, I do have another customer to attend to!” Hugging him, she turned to Vanya, who allowed an embrace. “It was wonderful to meet you,” she said, “and come back again soon!”

He heard something hitting the glass, and as he looked outside with dread in the pit of his stomach, he saw that rain had started pouring down in thick sheets. Vanya cursed under her breath, but when he looked at her, concerned something was wrong, she was just staring outside. “I’m not looking forwards to the walk home,” she said, shaking her head. Klaus turned back to the window. There was a store a little ways away that seemed to sell clothes, and he wondered if it would sell umbrellas, too. “I should’ve called ahead for a taxi.”

“I’ll go buy an umbrella really quickly across the street instead,” he said, standing up and doing a little dance to to the door. Turning around, he waved his ‘goodbye’ hand, grinning. “I’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” Vanya said. Zoya remained sitting next to her.

Running out the door, he ran across the street without looking both ways, a car heading west tapping his leg and several people honking loudly. By the time he reached the small clothing shop, he was soaked to the bone and freezing, but it was worth it when he came back with his ten dollar prize and Vanya beamed at him like he was the world. Opening it up, he said his farewells to Maggie with a promise to stay in touch, and they left.

He walked her back to her apartment in the rain, chatting all the while about how she was doing with the orchestra and her private lessons, and he found it shockingly easy to recall memories from that year despite it being over ten months for him since they’d actually happened. She had her arm slipped around his elbow, and her body warmth seeped in through the fabric of his suit, comforting and familiar. By the time they arrived, their shoes were soaked and squelched as they walked, and when they entered into the lobby of her apartment building, he was glad to be out of the cold.

“I’ve really appreciated this, Klaus,” she said, and he smiled down at her.

“What can I say?” He asked, closing the umbrella and pulling her into an embrace. They held each other for a moment before he pulled back, holding her by the shoulders. “I just enjoy spending time with you.”

“Thanks,” she mumbled, sheepish. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, trying to warm her fingertips, and they stood in silence, although it wasn’t tense. After a moment, she looked up at him, eyes warm but concerned. “Klaus, I want you to know,” she said slowly, “that if there’s anything that’s troubling you, then you can talk to me about it.”

“I’m fine,” he said impulsively, the words slipping out before he even registered the question, but she shook her head.

“I can tell you aren’t alright,” she said. Grabbing his elbows, she pulled his hands out of his pockets, rubbing his fingers. The white bandages covering the new tattoo on her wrist stood out against her pale skin, and he focused on them, not looking up at her. “You’re forgetting that besides Ben, I know you best.” She was right and he knew it.

Taking a shaky breath, he looked up, smiling at her. “I can’t tell you what it is,” he said, “but, ah.” He swallowed tightly, squeezing her hands, and she nodded, gaze sympathetic. Ben nodded encouragingly behind her, and it was an asshole decision, he knew, but he couldn’t very well tell her ‘I might never see the love of my life again because it could damage the timeline’ or ‘I came from the apocalyptic future just like Five and now am the only one who remembers it’ without sounding absolutely crazy. Well, crazier than normal. “I can see Ben’s ghost,” he confessed, “and I have been able to see him for years, and I know you and the others didn’t believe me when I said it at the funeral or, or in the months afterwards, but—“

“I believe you,” Vanya interrupted, voice a whisper, and he slammed his mouth shut, teeth clicking. Ben was gaping, and his hands were shaking, and he wasn’t sure he heard it right until she repeated herself. “I believe you.”

“You do,” he asked, the words more of a question than a statement, and she nodded, smiling up at him. He breathed a sigh of relief, a weight falling off his shoulders that he didn’t even know he’d been carrying, and leaning forwards, he rested his forehead against hers. A disbelieving laugh bubbled between his lips, and soon she was laughing too.

“How’s he been?” Vanya asked, voice hardly a whisper, and he smiled.

“He makes a pretty damn good shoulder angel,” he assured, “that’s for sure.”

She laughed, and Ben stepped forwards. “Can you tell her that I love her,” he asked with a strained voice, “please?”

Klaus nodded, pulling back. “He says,” he croaked, “he says that he’s missed being able to talk to you.” Tears were pricking at his eyes, and he tried to keep them from spilling over. His nose and jaw ached, and there was that pressure building in his ears again. “He regrets that he didn’t get to see you become the lovely, strong women that you are today,” he continued, voice breaking, “and he says that he’s proud of you, and that he loves you very, very much.”

Face reddening, Vanya sobbed, smiling as she wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. “Thank you,” she said. Pulling him into another embrace, they held each other. Ben had started crying, hands fluttering over them like he wanted to hold them, too, but as much as he strained himself to make him corporeal, it wouldn’t happen. He could levitate in his sleep and telekinetically move things when he got emotional enough, and even make Ben corporeal when they were in danger, but he couldn’t do it simply when Ben needed him to. As happy as Vanya was, the tears that slipped down his cheeks were bitter. He felt warmth radiating off her with his hands, could vividly envision nights at Griddy’s as a family and practically taste the wood of her violin simply by touching her coat jacket, and the feeling of her was comforting.

Eventually, they separated again, and he said his goodbyes before he could be roped into staying the night. Zoya said her farewells with the promise that she’d be with him in the morning, and after reopening the umbrella, he left to go home to Hargreeves mansion. It was strange, that he’d started thinking of the place as home again, but it was his first permanent residence in years. He was getting quite used to the idea of settling down. When they arrived, he used the fire escape just to spite his brother, clambering in through his own bedroom window and landing on his bed.

It was a relief, stripping down to his boxer shorts and settling down on his bed, and, grabbing a blank canvas and his supplies, he started to paint Dave in his stupid blue button-down, not caring that Ben was watching him with an inquisitive gaze. He’d calm his racing mind through art. A deceased nanny wandered in through the wall, muttering obnoxiously to herself, but he ignored her and she disappeared as quickly as she came. He couldn’t remember his eyes exactly right, couldn’t recreate their exact shade of blue, so he left that area blank, but his demure smile and strong shoulders were similar enough to the real man that he wondered if he closed his eyes and kissed the painting, would he reopen them to the real Dave Katz in the flesh in front of him?

After he’d gotten as far as he would with the painting, he propped it up to dry next to his portrait of Zoya, thinking of how he had a pretty little gallery starting in his bedroom. He’d try painting mom next, he determined as he laid back down, excess energy expended. Ben settled next to him, sitting on the bed, and he wondered how ghosts could interact with the world around them without difficulty but not humans.

“You promised me that you’d tell me about why you’ve been acting weird,” he pointed out, and Klaus groaned, burying his face into his pillow. Fisting his bedsheets, he wished that he still had Dave’s dog-tags to hold onto. “Does it have something to do with the man you just painted?” He asked, and while he didn’t exactly hit the nail on its head, that was one reason.

Klaus shrugged. “Can’t I just procrastinate on this more?” He asked into his pillow, voice muffled.

“I promise,” Ben said, “that whatever you say, I’ll believe you.” Klaus stayed silent, and his brother sighed again. “You were brave enough to tell Vanya about me earlier, so can you have the same courage and tell me what’s actually up with you?”

He considered brushing him off again, but he was tired of running from his past and his future, and it wasn’t as if Ben could go spilling his secrets to their other siblings. They were alone, and there was almost nothing he could do to drive Ben away regardless. So, with a shaky inhale, he told Ben about everything that had happened in the nearly eleven months since everything had started the first time, from Five to Vietnam to the apocalypse and Vanya. It was scary, but he knew that Ben was telling the truth when he said that he’d believe him.


	6. Schön Rosmarin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luther isn’t entirely a bad guy, Klaus finally eats something, and he definitely did not steal his father’s book, if anyone comes asking.

It was way past midnight by the time he finished his story, and Ben was impossibly perched on the chair of his desk, legs folded beneath him as he sat on the back of it pensively. “So, let me get this straight,” he said, folding his hands in his lap. His posture had never been the best, but the way he was hunched over himself was especially defined just by the light of his lamp, illuminating his soft features and worried brow. “You traveled back in time from a doomed timeline,” he said, “where our powerless sister was the one who brought about the end of days because of an abusive boyfriend, while you also spent ten months fighting in the Vietnam war.”

“Yes,” Klaus confirmed patiently. He had left out the ‘making ghosts corporeal’ bit, if only so he could surprise Ben with making him tangible once he finally mastered the previously sealed power. There wasn’t any point in making much ado about nothing beforehand.

“And you,” he continued, “are getting sober because you fell in love with a soldier who not only is dead, but no longer knows you in this timeline, and never asked you to get sober in the first place?” Leaning his chin on his hand, he sighed through his nose, pinching his brow. “You’re the only one who remembers any of it,” he said with emphasis, “and now, you’re trying to singlehandedly avert the apocalypse without any sort of plan whatsoever.”

“Hey, I have a plan,” Klaus corrected, frowning. It was half-baked, sure, but that still counted for something. That, he was certain on. It was better than anything Luther and most of his other siblings could come up with, regardless.

“A ‘plan,’” Ben said, word complete with air quotations, “that consists of forcibly making the rest of our siblings bond until they stop the apocalypse simply by existing.”

It didn’t fully encompass the lengths he was going to in order to ensure their family got the closure they needed, avoiding trauma and attempted murder and moon-destroying sonic blasts in the process, but it it was undeniable that it was an accurate summary. “Close enough!” Klaus chirped. His brother buried his face into his palms, absolutely exhausted with him, before looking back up at him with tired, frustrated eyes. Somehow, Ben always looked deader inside than he actually was, and that was saying something.

“What’s the next step, then?” Ben asked, and Klaus blanched, looking towards his analogue alarm clock for guidance.

It was past midnight, of course, which meant that it was the same day those bastards would attack the academy. If, of course, that was still happening in this new, changed version of events. There was the possibility that Five had killed Hazel and Cha Cha without him knowing, but if he hadn’t, then Klaus would need to make the decision whether or not to get kidnapped again, which was a whole different can of worms. On one hand, torture if he went, but on the other hand, no possibility of ever seeing Dave again if he didn’t get taken. In his mind, they were basically equivalent levels of ‘bad,’ but the question was which would most positively benefit the others. He still didn’t know what had happened in his absence, besides the attack on the academy. What if there was something important he missed during the nearly thirty six hours between the time he was kidnapped, and the time he reappeared on that damned bus after going to Vietnam?

“Nothing important until later tonight,” he said evasively, and while Ben’s brow wrinkled further, he didn’t press for a better answer. Ben knew well enough that if he didn’t want to answer a question, he wouldn’t. Those Commission agents had found that out rather quickly, too. Loose lips sink ships, and all that nonsense. “For now, though,” he said with a yawn, standing up from his bed and palming absently for a joint on his desk that he quickly realized wouldn’t be there, “I need to practice something. Big day today, and I want to be useful if we end up in a combat situation, not just the shitty lookout again.”

“There are a lot of alarming things about that sentence that I feel we should unpack right now,” Ben commented while Klaus stretched his back with an audible pop, extending his arms and twisting his pelvis so that his bones crackled and muscles grew less tense, “but I’ll forget about it just this once, because I’m curious.”

Wringing his hands, shaking them loose and taking in slow, measured breaths, he extended his arms while his fingers took the shape of a rough, lumpy triangle. Through the gap they left, he stared at a pen on his desk, and focused on its form. “We’re gonna’ try making that fucking levitate, Ben,” he said, and his ghostly brother released a startled guffaw, shaking his head while he slipped to the floor and moved out of the way. Standing behind him, Ben watched with sick fascination as he strained himself to try to make it float, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth. Nothing was happening, and although he knew it wouldn’t come naturally straight away, it was still frustrating. “Man,” Klaus chuckled weakly, “if the others walked in on this...”

“Then you’d be upfront,” Ben said, tone even, “and you’d trust them to believe you about what you’re doing.”

“Y’know, it makes so much more sense when you say it,” Klaus said sarcastically, letting his arms flop to his sides. All he had to show for his efforts was the beginning of another migraine. “Totally changed my entire worldview. I thank thee, brother dearest!”

Rolling his eyes at his excessive theatrics, Ben shifted so that he was laid on his bed, crossing his legs and tucking his arms beneath his head, staring up at his ceiling. “Maybe you just gotta’ not think about it,” he pointed out, and Klaus pouted. Not thinking had never worked out for him in the past, at least not in any way that mattered. “You summoned Zoya through mental tranquility, not force of will,” he observed, “and both times you’ve used your other powers, you haven’t done it intentionally.”

“So I just wait and hope they take effect when I’m in mortal danger?” He asked, and Ben shook his head again.

“What I meant was that you should use them as an extension of yourself,” he clarified, “not like you’re trying to wrest control from something else.” Ben knew a lot about wresting control, he wanted to say, but he kept his mouth firmly shut. Making the observation would be mean, and he really was trying to make a positive impact. “You‘re better at things when you’re not stressed.”

Klaus was inclined to agree. “Alright,” he breathed nervously, shaking out his hands again to loosen the joints. This time, he tried to relax, thinking about moving the pen but not involving his body in it. He focused on letting energy flow through him, cycling through his fingertips and his heart and brain, and when he felt pressure building in his ears, he allowed it. Nothing else happened, but he persevered, trying not to force it. When his ears started physically hurting, he gave up, collapsing onto his bed with Ben. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong!” Klaus crowed, covering his eyes with his palms as the aching pressure gradually receded.

“You haven’t slept well, recently,” Ben pointed out, “and you still haven’t eaten anything in almost two days.”

“I drank tea earlier,” Klaus corrected.

“That doesn’t count,” his brother said, voice deadpan. Klaus didn’t dignify him with a comeback. Sighing exasperatedly, Ben stood, folding his arms across his chest. “Come on, get up and eat,” he demanded, but Klaus shook his head.

“Too lazy and disappointed,” he groaned as an excuse, although his traitorous stomach had started grumbling at the offer of food. As much as he wanted food, he also suddenly wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and sleep in his warm, comforting bed. “Get me food yourself if you want me to eat.”

Ben rolled his eyes at the suggestion. “Maybe you could try bringing yourself some food with your new powers,” he said, and Klaus considered the proposal.

“Get ready to be disappointed,” he said after a moment, extending his hand upwards and making grasping motions with his fingers.

For a moment, he focused, and nothing happened. Then the pressure built suddenly, like he’d swam to the bottom of a swimming pool, and with a gasp and a pop in his ear, there was a clattering downstairs before a can of broccoli cheese soup was flying through his door with an explosion of wooden fragments and into his hand. “Shit!” Ben cursed, flinching away even though it couldn’t have hit him, and Klaus sat up, gazing at the can in his hand with amazement and ignoring the warm, salty liquid that had started dripping across his lips. He and Ben looked at each other, eyes meeting across the room, and Klaus beamed, laughing wildly and pumping his fist. “Your nose is bleeding,” Ben observed warily, but he shook his head, dismissive.

“This is progress, brother dearest!” He exclaimed, tossing the can in the air and catching it, turning it over in his hands. It was then that he realized he neither had a spoon, nor a can opener. It also was lukewarm, and, after looking at the expiration date printed on the lid, he guessed it was probably fermented, and not in a fun way. “Ah, fuck,” he groaned, “do you think I can pull it off again to get something better?”

“I’m honestly scared to find out,” Ben said, and Klaus stood up again, newly invigorated and fully intending to actually go downstairs to get sustenance.

Before he could, however, there was the sound of a bed creaking next door, and soon, heavy footsteps that could only belong to Luther were moving down the hallway. Coming to stand outside his door, Luther ducked down, looking through the hole in the door with a frown, but quickly standing straight again when he saw Klaus was only in his underwear, alone with a bloody nose, cradling a can of soup with both hands. “Why’s your door broken?” He said cautiously, folding his bulky arms across his chest, and Klaus laughed at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation.

“I just summoned a can of soup from downstairs,” he explained, and Luther made a vague noise of acknowledgement. He considered it progress that the blonde didn’t immediately try to call him out as a liar. When Luther didn’t move from his position outside his room, Klaus grew restless, tossing the can behind him onto the bed and shuffling his feet on the floor, crossing his ankles. “Is there anything else you need, Luther?” He asked, and the question seemed to be the invitation his brother was looking for.

“Can you put some clothes on, first?” Luther asked, and he nodded before realizing he couldn’t see him. “We need to talk.”

“Just give me a,” he nearly tripped over the edge of a rug, catching his balance just in time to not face-plant into the floor, “second...”

Slipping a vibrant blue tee shirt with a bright red fish on the front over his head, he slipped into one of Allison’s old skirts, the white fabric airy while still covering what needed to be covered. As much as Luther was an asshole, he didn’t judge any of Klaus’ queerness, which he was thankful for. He could be a real jerk sometimes, but never a bigot.

“Alright,” he said with a strained voice, opening the door, “what do you—“

Luther reached out for him, and while he flinched back, he wasn’t fast enough to avoid the bone-crushing embrace his brother gave him. Arms hanging uselessly at his sides, standing only on his bare toes with the balls of his feet not touching the ground, he waited for him to start squeezing him until he popped or something similarly violent, but the expected assault or murder never came. When he looked behind him, Ben was simply watched wordlessly, expression confused and slightly alarmed. “I’m sorry,” Luther rumbled in his deep baritone, and he blanched, trying to extricate himself from the hug. Klaus couldn’t budge, and wasn’t even sure Luther noticed him trying to pull away.

“For what?” He asked, voice muffled by his shoulders, and Luther peeled back just enough to look at him.

“Everything about these past few days, really,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. Klaus shirted backwards, scratching his calf with his toenails and suddenly wishing he could teleport out of the situation like Five. The window was a two story drop without a fire escape, Luther was blocking his first door, and while he could try making it to the other one, Luther would be fast enough to grab him if he tried running.

“Apology accepted?” Klaus said, the phrase more of a question than a response, but his brother shook his head.

“That’s not—“ Luther huffed, clearly frustrated, before taking a slow, measured breath. He pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbing the skin there before letting his hands drop to his sides, fingers clenched into fists. “Listen,” he grunted, “I don’t want easy forgiveness. I should’ve trusted you when you told us that you were sober, and I shouldn’t have grabbed you without your permission and shoved you earlier.” Klaus folded his arms across his chest, trying to shrink in on himself, and Luther winced at the action. “We need to be working together,” he continued, slightly less aggressive, “but all I’ve done these past few days is push us all apart, and I regret that.”

“So what’re you gonna’ do about it?” Klaus asked impulsively, and Luther’s expression was first surprised, then embarrassed. He fiddled with the hem of his shirt, suddenly regretting asking the question. “If you really regret it,” he pressed, “you should show it, not just say it.”

“I’m—“ Luther started with vigor, before looking at the floor with a blush coating his cheeks. Klaus wasn’t sure that he’d ever seen him look so utterly defeated. “Open to your suggestions.”

“Alright,” Klaus said, “but first, I need something in my stomach.”

“I’ll drive you somewhere,” Luther offered, and he nodded.

From there, it was a quick, awkward car ride to the Denny’s across town, and when they walked inside, a waitress grabbed several menus and led them to a booth tucked away in a corner of the restaurant at a junction between two windows. The place was practically abandoned, with only an elderly couple and a man crying on a barstool, which was pretty standard for business at two in the morning on a Wednesday. His two week stint working the night shift at the McDonald’s down the street had been a fucking nightmare.

“My name is Maria and I’ll be your waitress for tonight,” she introduced, setting two menus and a couple sets of silverware down on the table. He picked it up, opening it up to the breakfast page. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Just two waters for now, thanks,” he said.

“One for me, also,” Luther agreed, and Klaus was appreciative that he hadn’t questioned why he was ordering two for himself. Ben had slipped into the booth next to him where their backs were to the window facing the street outside the entrance, while his brother had taken the seat across the table. “You look a lot healthier,” Luther said awkwardly, “less pale.” His eyes were firmly fixed on his menu, averted from him, but Klaus smiled regardless, somewhat wary but still accepting of the compliment.

“Danke!” He chirped, looking to his right towards Ben. “What should we get?” He asked their other brother, who squinted skeptically down at the plastic-covered pages of the menu. Luther opened his mouth to respond, but closed it again when he saw Klaus wasn’t talking directly to him, turned as he was towards what he would perceive as an empty space.

“Horchata milkshake,” Ben said, and Klaus nodded. A wise suggestion on his part. If there was one great thing about Denny’s, it was their wide, delicious variety of milkshakes. “And the ‘My Hammy and Cheese.’”

“An omelet,” he said, “nice.”

Luther gave him a strange look, but didn’t comment on it, thin lips pursing. “I’ll cover the bill,” he said, leaving no room for argument on Klaus’ part.

“Fine by me,” he said, pleased that he wouldn’t have to spend his dwindling funds on— what was he having? Breakfast or dinner? Brinner? Dinfast? It didn’t really matter what it was called, but he still needed to forcibly suppress the train of thought before he left the station with it. He didn’t want to get spacey with Luther, even if he seemed to be calm at the moment. “So,” he drawled, closing his menu and setting it down on the table, “was it Allison who put you up to all of this?”

“She helped me realize what I had done wrong,” Luther said with a frown, “but no, she didn’t make me come apologize.”

Allison had always been Luther’s better half— ever since they were kids, it was her who would help him lighten up, convince him to sneak out with the rest of them to go to Griddy’s or bowling, or wherever else they decided was fit for seven, eventually six kids to pull an all-nighter at. After Ben died, they simply stopped hanging out together, with the occasional exception of either Klaus listening to Vanya play, or Diego making sure that Klaus didn’t overdose and die alone in an alley, although the second situation barely counted as hanging out. Luther was admittedly Allison’s moral compass, too, making sure she didn’t simply rumor the rest of them into doing what she wanted. She never rumored him, and he made sure she didn’t rumor the rest of them.

“You said you didn’t want easy forgiveness,” he mused, leaning his chin on his folded hands.

“I don’t,” Luther confirmed, voice steady.

Klaus hummed, looking out the window to his left. It had started to rain again, and cars drove by, driving through puddles. Somebody with a bright red umbrella almost got hit, stepping back onto the sidewalk just in time and shaking his fist angrily at the vehicle as it drove away. “I care about you,” he admitted, “even though you’re an asshole sometimes—“

“Hey,” Luther interrupted indignantly, but Klaus continued.

“—and I know you’re stressed, what with dad’s death and the looming apocalypse and whatnot.” He’d play the situation to his advantage. Looking back to his brother, he tried to keep his expression as serious as he could, crossing his legs at the ankle to stop himself from tapping his foot anxiously. “I need you to trust me almost blindly,” he said, “just for the next few days.”

“Is this about what dad told you?” Luther asked, and after a moment, he nodded. At least Luther wholeheartedly believed that he’d seen their father, which was ironically the only lie he’d told so far.

“He knew about some of the things that would happen,” Klaus explained, “but not the full details.” It made sense with hindsight why Reginald had sent Luther to the moon, dubbing him ‘Spaceboy’ despite his abilities and origins having nothing to do with space. Klaus didn’t have context for his memory, but he did remember that Vanya’s hero name was supposed to be the ‘White Violin,’ at least before they all got rumored by Allison. Diego’s name was the ‘Kraken,’ strangely enough, but maybe he had a reason for that, too. They’d been trained in preparation for something, Reginald was always going on about the ‘fate of the world,’ and when they’d actually spoken in the prior timeline, he said that he’d killed himself to bring them all back together at the house to save the world. “I don’t know a lot,” he continued, “but what I do know is that we need to include Vanya in everything.”

“You’re such a big liar,” Ben said, but he resolutely ignored him.

Luther opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, their waitress came back, three waters balanced in her hand on a black plastic tray. “Alright,” she said cheerily, setting them down on the table in front of them, “are you two ready to order?”

“Yes,” Klaus said, smiling pleasantly. Luther nodded wordlessly in agreement with him. “We’ll have an horchata milkshake and the ‘My Hammy and Cheese’ omelet, please.”

“And I’ll have a ‘Lumberjack Slam’, a strawberry milkshake, the turkey and dressing dinner, and pancakes and seasoned fries on the side,” Luther ordered without flinching. It was a massive amount of food, although Klaus believed he’d be able to eat it all, what with how massive Luther was himself.

To her credit, the waitress didn’t even bat an eye, writing down their order on her little notepad. “I’ll be back with everything soon,” she assured, leaving to head towards the kitchen. At least their food would come quick, what with how empty the place was. The elderly couple was already paying at the register, and nobody new had come inside the restaurant.

They were left alone together again, and Luther was wringing his hands, seeming to be consciously breathing slowly and evenly. If only he could always have that level of anger management. “What does Vanya have to do with the end of the world?” Luther asked, and Klaus was left at a crossroads. He procrastinated on his decision by raising his glass of water to his lips, staring at the condensation the glass left on the table while he drained it down to the ice.

There was the option of telling him about Vanya’s potentially world-ending superpowers, but that would risk him choosing to simply lock her away again, and he couldn’t do that to their sister. They could keep her medicated and imprisoned avoid her breaking out like last time, but while it would be the simplest option, it would also be taking the easy way out. He could also claim that Vanya would be the one to stop the apocalypse, but he doubted that Luther could believe that for a second.

“Well,” he said, looking to Ben for advice. His brother shrugged helplessly, lips twisting wryly as he leaned back into the booth and tried not to laugh, and he barely stopped himself from scowling at Ben and flipping him off for laughing at his predicament. “I know dad was the one who insisted on keeping her separate when we were kids,” he said, “but he had changed his tune by the time we had our little ghostly soirée. He told me that it needs to be all seven—“ he blanched, “six of us if we want to stop it.”

Luther raised an eyebrow at his slip-up, but ultimately ignored it. Probably thought that it was a can of worms that didn’t need opening. “Did he tell you why he sent me to the moon?” He asked, leaning forwards.

Really, it was anyone’s guess. Daddy dearest hadn’t looked at a single report that Luther had sent back, but he also seemed to preemptively know other things that would happen, so he wouldn’t be surprised if he sent him up to the moon because he knew the apocalypse would involve the moon. He decided that it wouldn’t hurt to tell him that. “All he knew was that the apocalypse would involve the moon being destroyed,” he said, “nothing else. That’s why he sent you up there.” Pausing, he chewed his lip before continuing. “I have to warn you,” he said, “he didn’t look at any of the research you sent back, but he knew you wouldn’t want to be there simply to observe, so he had you do something while you were there to make you feel useful at the time.”

Luther looked crestfallen, but he still nodded, believing every word Klaus said. He wished his siblings could’ve had that same confidence in him years before, but at the same time, beggars can’t be choosers. “We have to tell the others what you’ve told me,” he said determinedly, and Klaus nodded.

“Is this a good idea?” Ben asked, and he considered. It might be a bad idea, but again, they needed to fix everything together if they wanted to prevent it from happening a third time.

“We should search through dad’s notes when we get back,” Luther suggested, taking a sip of his water. Klaus felt his blood go cold. The notebook he hadn’t stolen and thrown away was also the notebook that contained notes on Vanya and her abilities, and that was a big no-no for Luther to find out about. “Maybe he wrote something else about the apocalypse there, something that he didn’t tell us before.”

“Perhaps!” He said instead with faux enthusiasm, lacing his fingers together and resting them on top of the table. Looking out the window again, he physically startled when he saw a headless woman, her still-bleeding head grasped firmly in her hands and mouthing wordlessly at him. Turning back to Luther, pointedly staring only at him, his brother was frowning.

“Is there any way for you to suppress them?” He asked, and Klaus shrugged.

“Besides drugs and getting drunk out of my goddamn mind?” He said, and the lines in Luther’s face deepened. He’d have frown lines before he was forty, at the rate he was going at. They were all barely twenty-nine, for fuck’s sake. “If there is,” he continued, “I haven’t found it, yet.”

“Dad could’ve written about it,” Luther suggested, and his mind stalled.

He really could have, Klaus realized.

If he knew a way for Klaus to repel the spirits, it would’ve been written down in his little red journal. Reginald had an entire chapter written about Vanya, so it wouldn’t be a stretch to imagine he had pages dedicated to him, his behavioral patterns, and his supernatural abilities. Did he even know about the telekinesis and the levitation when he’d told him he wasn’t living up to his full potential?

“I’ve said before that you might be able to repel them with your powers,” Ben reminded him in his ‘I told you so’ voice, and Klaus stuck his tongue out at his undead brother, despite the way Luther looked at him in concern.

Ignoring Ben and smiling serenely at Luther, he shrugged. “I think if he had anything else to say about the apocalypse, he would’ve told me when we were communicating,” he said, focusing on ensuring Luther didn’t try to hunt down the journal and end up locking Vanya in a soundproof cellblock underground in their basement. He’d rather burn the book than have it come to that. “As it is,” he continued, scratching at the stubble on his jaw, “we should focus on securing the house, and making sure nobody tries to assault Vanya in the apartment where she‘s living right now.”

“She could move in with us,” Luther suggested, and it wasn’t a bad idea.

“I could ask her later,” Klaus proposed, “or I could have Allison ask her for me.”

“Yeah,” Luther agreed. He’d brightened up, posture straightening since they started the conversation. He was always in his best mood when he felt he was being useful, and taking proactive steps towards stopping the apocalypse was surely a good thing for him. “I suppose we could ask Diego,” he continued, sounding slightly reluctant, “considering he’s living in the back room of a boxing ring or, ah, gym right now.”

He was surprised that Luther was willing to propose that, but maybe Klaus really did have him convinced that they needed to stick together to stop the apocalypse. “We’ll ask him, sure,” he agreed.

“Thirsty, aren’t we?” Maria asked, startling the bejeezus out of Klaus and making Luther’s hand edge towards his butter knife. She was pushing a cart stacked high with dishes and cups, and, grabbing his empty glass, she refilled it with water, topping off Luther’s as well. “Horchata milkshake and ‘My Hammy and Cheese’ omelet for you,” she said, setting the milkshake and dish in front of him, “and everything else for you.” Transferring all of the dishes to the table in front of Luther was difficult, but she managed in record time, somehow fitting his orders in the area of the booth. Klaus covered his mouth with the back of his hand to disguise his smile, and Luther had the decency to look somewhat sheepish. “Anything else I can get you?” She asked, chipper as she grabbed the handle of her cart, already prepared to take it back to the kitchen. Klaus realized he still hadn’t cleaned the blood from under his nose.

Luther looked to him, then back at the waitress. “I think we’re good,” he said, and she nodded, walking away. Bless her nerves of steel and likely experience in the customer service industry.

“I’ll be right back,” Klaus promised, standing up with the intention of going to wash the blood off his face. It wouldn’t hurt that maybe the headless ghost would get bored and leave the premises while he was away. Ghosts didn’t tend to lurk around eateries, laundromats, houses, and other boring places, so long as nobody was murdered on the property and nobody visiting had caused someone’s death, so once she was gone, it’d be back to having exclusively living company.

Besides Ben, of course.

“I’ll go with you,” said deceased brother declared, already beginning to stand up, but he gestured ‘don’t’ by subtly sliding a hand along his throat, and Ben nodded, settling back down. He wanted him to be able to report back Luther’s behavior while he was gone, although there was little doubt in his mind that the blonde, who had already started digging into his meal, would still be eating by the time he came back.

He adjusted his skirt while he made his way to the men’s restroom, pushing aside the heavy door and approaching the long mirror hanging on the wall above the sink. Blood was indeed crusted over his chin, dripping down from his nose and reaching all the way down to his collarbone, and he frowned, looking up his clogged nose.

“No wonder it was difficult to breathe,” he exclaimed to nobody in particular, noticing that his nose seemed to still be bleeding, or at least had been recently, fresh, shiny blood having gathered just at his nostrils. Grabbing a handful of paper towels, he wetted them, starting to wipe down his jaw and neck first and making his way up towards his nose. When clean areas started getting bloody again, he stuffed the paper towels into the trash can, grabbing new ones and continuing to clean his face. By the time he finished, he could tell that his nose was indeed still bleeding, although the fluid had slowed to a crawl. “Christ on a cracker,” Klaus muttered to himself, pinching his nose and tilting his head back.

The position only made his head swim. He looked at the ceiling, and disgustingly, he could feel the blood start to trickle down the back of his throat, although he just swallowed the fluid down. It was a mystery why his nose only bled when he did it intentionally and not at the office, and why every time he did it, his ear canals felt like they were being inflated. He realized that the pressure had started building recently whenever he was stressed, too, so he would have to be careful in the future if he wanted to avoid some random psychic outburst in the middle of a public area. ‘Self awareness is the first step to making positive changes,’ one of his court mandated therapists once said, and Klaus was sure that he could apply that to his superpowers, too.

It took a few minutes, but eventually, it stopped, and he let go of his nose, flexing his hand so that the stiffened muscles were loosened. It hurt, holding a clamp like that for a long time, but it worked, although he still had blood all over his fingers from touching it. Looking down, he covered his hands with soap, rinsing them for a minute under the water, then washing them again. Doctors always said that double washing was the best way to prevent the spread of germs, and although normally he couldn’t care less about his own safety, public restrooms were cesspits of disease, and he had an apocalypse to prevent. He couldn’t go fucking about and getting sick.

Grabbing more paper towels and looking up into the mirror, intending on cleaning the remaining gore from his nose, he glanced behind him, and there was the headless woman in all her bloody glory. She was staring at him with hollow eyes, mouth open in a wordless scream, and he bit down harshly on his lip to keep from crying out, feeling the taste of iron burst on his tongue as he split it open. Backing up so his back was pressed against the tiles on the wall, he took slow, measured breaths, glancing into the mirror and realizing that he’d cut it open bad, blood crawling down his chin again. He wiped it away with his knuckles before it could drip onto his shirt, smearing on the back of his hand.

“Out,” he demanded, but she didn’t listen, continuing to hover in front of him, feet not even touching the dirty bathroom floor. He pointed towards the door, and she kept staring, eyes vacant. After a minute, he moved from his position on the wall, ignoring her and using his head to block her in the mirror while he cleaned the fresh blood from his mouth and hand. Sucking on the injury, he stayed until it had mostly clotted, blood tacky against the skin. It hurt to move his mouth, the injury being pulled with the slightest movement, but he looked less like a murder victim. “Jesus,” he murmured bitterly, shuffling out, “can’t a guy go to the bathroom in peace?”

She didn’t follow him when he sat back down, and Luther didn’t interrogate him about why he took so long. The first sip of his milkshake was heavenly, although it stung with his freshly acquired injury. “What happened to your bottom lip?” Luther did ask, concern etched into his face, and Klaus shrugged, pulling his lips away from his straw.

“Almost slipped in a puddle on the floor,” he casually lied, “caught myself on the way down and bit it.”

Even Ben didn’t seem to pick up on it being a lie, and Luther shrugged. “Clean it when you get home,” was all he said, and the matter was promptly dropped. He was glad he didn’t pursue it, because Klaus really didn’t want to talk about it any more. It was moments like the one in the bathroom that made him wish he could pop some prescription painkillers or something, anything to just block them out, but he wouldn’t ruin it again. Couldn’t ruin the trust the others were finally placing in him.

They finished the meal, mostly just chatting about the moon and Klaus’ time spent with Vanya, Five, and Diego the day prior, and by the time Klaus had shoved the rest of his hash browns into his mouth, chugging the remainder of his shake, Luther was finished with his massive meal. Maria brought the bill, and Luther took out a stack of bills from his wallet, handing it to her. He tipped twenty percent as they left, and they walked past the sobbing man on the barstool as they left, Klaus only just realizing he had a ring of purpling bruises around his neck, head at an awkward angle from the rest of his body.

It could be hard, distinguishing the living from the dead.

He was glad when they finally walked out through the glass doors, hopping in the car to go home. The drive was silent, and he almost nodded off before they pulled into the alley next to the mansion, Luther nudging his shoulder to wake him up. He clambered out of the passenger seat, yawning loudly and shivering when the cold night air hit his bare arms, and together, they walked inside, Ben trailing behind them.

“This has been a productive morning so far,” Klaus mused aloud, and Luther chuckled, nodding in agreement.

“I’ll see you later, Klaus,” he said, turning to head towards the living room. He paused in the exit, turning around with a grim expression. “I‘m still sorry,” he reiterated, and Klaus waved his ‘goodbye’ hand, smiling.

“Don’t worry,” he said, “I won’t forgive you.” That elicited a laugh from Luther, and for a moment, he was reminded of when they were kids, before he shoved a really long stick up his ass. The smile made dimples appear in the corners of his mouth and reached all the way to his eyes, and it made him grin, too, wide enough that it hurt. Blowing a kiss, he waved again, jogging backwards until he reached the stairs. “Love you, darling Number One,” he called, and Luther chuckled again, entering the family room and leaving Klaus’ field of vision.

When he was certain Luther was gone, he rushed up the main staircase, turning right towards the balcony around the family room. Walking close to the bookcases on the walls, he moved quietly and in the shadows, Luther not looking up and seeing him from where he’d grabbed a book and started reading it. He made his way towards the entrance to daddy’s offices, and when he arrived at the door, he opened it slowly, thankful that Pogo seemed to grease the hinges regularly. It didn’t creak, and he closed it slowly again with a soft click, doing a small dance in celebration.

Nobody was in the hallway, and nobody was in the office either when he entered it, going to where he knew the box with pearl inlay would be. He pulled open the drawer, not removing the box, and opened it just long enough to remove the journal of Reginald Hargreeves, closing it immediately afterwards and shutting the drawer. He was glad that Pogo hadn’t removed it, or else he would need to search more of the house, maybe even Pogo’s rooms while the others distracted him.

“Smart,” Ben drawled, “taking the journal in the dead of night after having a conversation with Luther about it. Aren’t there security cameras here, too?”

“Shit,” he cursed. If Luther decided to take a peak, and he knew he was aware of them, considering he’d been shown dad’s death on tape with mom and everything by Allison. He would come to the conclusion of checking them, or else he’d tell someone else about the journal and they’d decide to take a look instead. Slipping the journal under his shirt, he exited and turned right, heading towards where he knew the surveillance room would be.

The desk with its cameras was still on, but much to his disappointment, they were all activated. It took a little bit of fidgeting with the controls, but he managed to delete several hours of footage from across the house, and deactivated them with a timer to start again in a half hour, giving him just enough time to hide it without it being caught on tape.

From there, he simply went back to his bedroom. Tucking the red book underneath a floorboard in a spot where he used to hide bricks of cocaine, he sealed the compartment, letting himself relax. Afterwards, he promptly collapsed in bed, stomach full and mind at ease knowing that Luther wouldn’t be able to check the journal for information, and resolved to read his own pages as soon as was convenient.

“I’m glad you’ve finally decided to get some rest at,” Ben looked at his alarm clock, “almost two in the morning, Jesus, Klaus!”

“Shut up,” he murmured grumpily. After a moment, he sighed. “Thanks for caring. G’night.” Sticking his headphones over his ears and grabbing his MP3 player, he started playing _It’s Only A Paper Moon_ by Ella Fitzgerald, her soft voice filling his ears and drowning out muffled screams from down the hall. He relaxed, taking a deep breath and feeling the clean air from his open window filling his lungs, and, exhausted, he feel asleep almost immediately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so tired, but this chapter was just itching to get out, so here it is, y’all. I’m happiest with this one, which is funny, because the diner scene was written on a whim. I personally think that Luther would be the kind of person to apologize through food, so, here that is.
> 
> He’s not entirely a bad guy, and for the first two episodes of the series, Luther was actually my favorite character! I just wanted to give our resident big bear man a little redemption, because in this timeline he still hasn’t pulled the utter dickwad move of shoving Vanya into the soundproof prison, although Klaus definitely remembers that. He’s still an irredeemable asshole in canon though, and here’s hoping we get a scene of him apologizing for everything in season two.
> 
> I’ve been working on middle arc chapters for this story in the meanwhile, and y’all, I’m so excited to get there, although I’m still savoring the buildup. There’ll be about two or three more chapters until it’s go time, and next chapter is going to be so fun to finish, so be hyped for that. There’ll be three arcs total, plus a bunch of side stories. Did I mention that there’s one (1) side story for this, now? Because there is, and if you haven’t read it yet, just head to the series this is part of. I’ve got a knife-throwing bonding scene for Five and Diego written up, although it’s shitty, and you’ll be getting tender Eudora and Diego smut to feed my hungry readers as soon as I’ve written that segment of the story from Klaus’ perspective here.
> 
> For now, goodnight! Happy 2020 y’all, hope it’s a good one for you, and remember, there’s always someone out there who loves and supports you. Things get better, I promise.


	7. Cold Winds Var. 2 — Day 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klaus should have known better than to think he could be anything but selfish.

_Dave was definitely dead, although he was still bleeding, the liquid pooling between Klaus’ fingers. He was back in the mausoleum again, but there weren’t any ghosts, leaving them in almost complete silence. Even though he knew his lips were moving, the words ‘medic, medic, help’ just weren’t coming out, and they were left there between suffocating stone walls, small and insignificant and worthless. Dave would only ever be another specter in its marble halls, he knew, wandering and screaming his incorporeal throat hoarse until there was nothing left of him but a ghost. Klaus still couldn’t help but wonder, if he pressed down long enough, would Dave forgive him for letting him die? Could he move on? If he did everything in his power and stayed by his side instead of just running away to his briefcase, what would happen to him?_

_There suddenly was a presence behind him, but when he looked around, nobody was there. Turning back to Dave, warm fluid still leaking through the cracks between his digits, when he looked down, it was Allison instead, his hands closed tightly around her preteen self’s slit throat. He lurched backwards, but his hands were glued to her flesh, impossible to move. “That you can’t drive the ghosts away, Klaus,” she wailed in a sentence that sounded incomplete, reaching up to claw at his face, and—_

Shoving himself up onto his forearms, he promptly buried his face into his arms again, body wanting to go to sleep again even though he was unwilling to be launched into another vivid, twisted nightmare. There were fingers combing through his hair again, and when he turned around, looking behind himself, it was Zoya, combing her gentle, wrinkled fingers through his curls and looking down at him sadly. “Klaus, myshka,” she murmured, “it was just a dream.”

Sobriety was funny, in that by suffering through the tortured screaming and pleading of the restless dead, he got to have Ben and his surrogate Russian grandmother for the emotional support that he’d always needed, but never gotten. Thirty-three days, he reminded himself, knowing that the drugs only made his nightmares worse. He was always going to have childhood trauma and Vietnam flashbacks manifest in his dreams, and taking drugs would only keep him from stopping the apocalypse. At least in Vietnam, Dave had provided some relief and compassion after every bad dream. The other boys frowned upon same-sex relationships, but it was normal for soldiers to provide comfort for each other, and either the others believed they were simply sworn brothers, or they’d turned a blind eye to their late-night cuddling.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, and when he sat up and put a hand on her arm, he could have sworn that he felt the fabric of her dress briefly before his hand fell through. When he tried to touch her again, his hand passed through incorporeal body again, and he figured that it made sense, seeing that his powers hardly seemed to function in any manner except unintentionally. Standing up, he stretched, still in his clothes from the night prior, and he made quick work of exchanging his wrinkled skirt and shirt for the pair of leather pants he loved so much and a short-sleeved shirt made of sheer white fabric. He never wore shoes around the house, and it wasn’t the day he would start.

“Rise and shine,” Ben said cheerfully, passing through his closed door, and he winced at the gaping hole left in its surface. The food from earlier in the morning still sat heavy in his gut, and he felt significantly better after a decent meal and a full night’s rest. The clock said it was past noon, and by the way light filled his bedroom, he could believe it. “What’s first on the apocalypse-stopping agenda for today, Klaus?”

Rubbing at his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose, he tried to recall what had happened in their past life on the twenty-sixth of March. Luther and Allison found the video recording of Reginald kicking the bucket, only contributing to Luther’s conviction to the idea that his death hadn’t been an accident, which it wasn’t, but in the sense that it was suicide, not a murder. Last time, they had the massive discussion about whether to deactivate mom, which wouldn’t happen since Pogo had already repaired whatever had been done to fuck up her wiring. He’d bathed for several hours, and maybe drowned, although he wasn’t quite sure if he ever crossed the line between the living and the dead.

It was also the day he’d be kidnapped by those two psychopathic agents that were sent by the Commission.

What first was a good question. “Well—“

“Family meeting,” Luther barked in the hallway. His blood ran cold, because while he figured it might’ve been about the apocalypse, there was also a significant chance he’d found the recording of mom letting Reginald perish, as pleasing as it had been to watch the first time.

“—that, I suppose.” He finished lamely, shrugging as he walked through Ben to the door. “Fate comes to us, when it so demands our participation.” Twisting his doorknob and opening the door slowly, he walked into the hallway, Zoya and Ben following him to the staircase. When he reached the flight of red stairs, Vanya came up behind him, an expression of worry etched onto her features.

“Do you know what this is about?” She asked, concern evident in her voice, and he shrugged helplessly, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other as they made their way downstairs. “Allison told me about it, she’s the reason I came here in the first place, but she never told me what it was about.”

“Apocalypse, probably,” he said. It was easy to pretend he didn’t know what it would be about, because he honestly had no clue, besides the suspicion that it had similar reasoning to the last time. The timeline had already been so twisted that he wasn’t even sure the apocalypse would end up happening. “You know how he’s been about that shit.”

Vanya looked unconvinced, but she brushed it off, shaking her head while they made it to the ground floor. “At least I’m being involved,” she muttered under her breath, and he felt guilt settle in the pit of his stomach, heavy and unpleasant like activated charcoal.

Stopping her with a hand on her shoulder in front of the grand staircase, he smiled at her, thumb rubbing a circle into the muscle there. “Of course,” he said, “because you’re our sister.” The worried lines on her face softened, and she smiled at him shyly, scuffing her shoes nervously on the carpet. Ben didn’t attempt to conceal how smug he was, while Zoya looked on affectionately, her hands clasped together tightly. “How has your morning been?” He asked, and she shrugged.

“Went on a sort-of date,” she said, cheeks flushing.

Dread filled his stomach, and he saw Ben’s grin drop off his face. Nevertheless, he smiled at her, bouncing on the balls of his feet and pretending to be excited and curious, rather than scared out of his mind. If he needed to preemptively murder Leonard Peabody, he would, screw having his ghost haunting him for the rest of his life. It would be worth stopping the end of the world for. “Who’s the man I have to give a shovel talk to?” He asked, throwing some fake punches and hoping he didn’t come off as too serious.

A flash of anxiety flickered through Vanya’s eyes, before she smiled tightly, fingers pulling at the edge of her sweater. “John,” she said, “some guy from my orchestra. A violist, second chair.“ The name wasn’t familiar, but that was a good thing. It meat the guy was unimportant in the grand scheme of the apocalypse. “I hope you wouldn’t scare off the first man to actually find me marginally interesting.”

Some part of him was still nervous, but he knew that Vanya would never lie to him. The others, maybe, but not Vanya. “Hush,” he said, waving his hand and throwing an arm around her neck, “who would ever be intimidated by me?”

Vanya rolled her eyes, visibly suppressing a smile, and he dragged her forwards. It was eerily quiet, but by the time they entered the livingroom, most of their other family members were gathered there, besides a Five. He figured he was shaking out the hospital he’d gotten a lead on, or something along that line. Allison was standing with her back to a pillar, Luther positioned by a television that was sitting on the island counter. Diego was perched on the back of the couch, chin leaning on his palm with his expression bored. Pogo was surprisingly present, when he hadn’t been the first time around.

“Master Luther requested your father’s journal earlier this morning,” Pogo said pointedly, looking directly at him with big, brown eyes. His gaze was piercing, like he knew it was Klaus who had stolen it, but unless he was secretly psychic, he couldn’t possibly know what he had done. Nonetheless, it made his skin crawl to have even the possibility of Pogo knowing. Days of work, undone in an instant. “When we checked the security tapes,” he continued, “they had been wiped of all footage between midnight, and four in the morning. I was certain that the book was within the drawer prior to this window of time, as I had cleaned his study earlier yesterday.”

Hands unclenching at his sides, he knew that they had no solid evidence against him. Pogo still was suspicious, but he was the family kleptomaniac, after all, even though it was less a compulsion to steal and more a need for easy money, fast. It was a lot simpler, not having to constantly be tracking down the means for another fix. “Now you’ve done it,” Ben snarked, curled up in an armchair with a book, and he subtly flipped him off when everyone’s attention focused on Luther.

“Klaus and I were out of the house during that time,” their larger brother said, voice rough with sleep and concern with bags under his eyes like he’d barely slept, “so it couldn’t have been either of us.” Pogo seemed surprised and slightly guilty, eyes widening as he hurriedly looked away from Klaus, and he felt a small amount of satisfaction at that, although he actually was the one who stole it. “Allison didn’t steal the book,” he said, and it was so predictable he could’ve screamed, “and I know for certain that Five was sleeping.”

All the attention was suddenly directed towards Vanya and Diego, the latter throwing his hands in the air in defeat and releasing an exasperated sigh. “Of course you fucking think it was me,” he grumbled, but Allison stepped forwards.

“He was with me,” she explained, “and I was in his bedroom until he fell asleep. We were talking about Five, and why he came back with a broken mannequin last night.” Diego shot her a thankful look, shoulders slumping in relief. He was evidently expecting the others to blame him, but Klaus wouldn’t let his brother take the blame like that, either. “We were talking in his bedroom about the apocalypse and stuff.”

Attention turned to Vanya, and she looked around, expression one of concern and mild irritation. She was still medicated and subdued, and he knew that she would probably have blown her gasket if she had a full range of emotion at the moment. “You think I did it,” she said, voice flat, hands curling into fists.

He stepped forwards, shaking his head. “Vanya wouldn’t have been here last night,” he said, “and what good use would she have for it, anyways? Tinder for her fireplace? Tearing it up for satisfaction?”

“Material for a sequel to her tell-all book,” Diego snarked glumly, arms folded across his chest. The others were looking at Vanya with suspicious gazes, but as he was about ready to simply step up and confess to being the perpetrator for the sake of defending her, Pogo shook his head.

“Miss Vanya’s medication tends to make her easily fatigued,” he said, “and she would not have been awake at the hours that the journal was taken.”

The rest of them deflated, obviously at a loss for who the taker of the journal was. They looked around between themselves, expressions concerned, until Allison cleared her throat, looking at the ground like she was unable to meet their gazes. “We found something else when we were looking through dad’s security tapes,” she said, “something you need to see. It was what this meeting was initially going to be about, actually.”

“I will take my leave,” Pogo said, turning and exiting the room.

Klaus knew what Luther was putting on the television before he’d pressed on the button to turn it on, a video already loaded and queued for playing. When he used the remote to play it, he got to watch again as their father took a sip of his tea before kneeling over in bed, their mother simply removing the monocle from his face before stepping away to continue fiddling with the tea set. He watched the others’ faces fall, but he himself was unbothered. Ben’s brows raised, and Zoya had to leave, phasing through the wall.

“Well,” Ben sighed, “at least we know it was a suicide.”

The video ended, and Luther paused at the end, leaving it on a frame of their father on his side, Grace standing to the side. “She may not have murdered him,” he said gruffly, “but she’s programmed to save human lives, and she just watched while he died. Helped him do it, as well.” Crossing his arms, he visibly clenched his jaw, posture defensive. “She’s clearly not in her right mind,” he said, “so if dad was hiding something in that journal, she could’ve taken it. We need to shut her down and access her memory banks, because I’ve looked through her things and it isn’t—“

“You shut the fuck up, Luther,” Diego said, stepping forwards and jabbing a finger into his broad chest. His face had turned pink, expression screwed up with rage, and he grew nervous. If there was another fight, it could end in somebody seriously injured. “She’s our mother,” he spat, “not just some machine for you to deactivate as you please.”

“Not to mention that Pogo fixed her,” Klaus piped up, pointing his thumb in the direction that the doctor went. Diego nodded in agreement, putting his hands on his hips. “It was Reginald who edited her programming,” he conceded, “but she’s better, now.”

“No,” Luther said, stepping around Diego. They squared each other up, each puffing out their chests and broadening their shoulders to make themselves more intimidating. “Of course you don’t want to make the logical decision,” he said, “because you’ve never actually used your head before, even though I know you have one. Too much of a mama’s boy?”

“Calm down,” Vanya ordered, “both of you.” Neither of them stood down, not bothering to even glance at her. They were too caught up in their squabbling, and Klaus knew where it would lead. “Clearly, she was programmed to be a protector,” she said, “but her software was tampered with. I don’t know who stole the book, but it couldn’t have been her. She wouldn’t.”

“Regardless,” Luther said, “we need to shut her down.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, wait,” Diego said, unseating a knife from his holster. Swinging it towards Luther, he held the blade in his practiced hand, and despite knowing that Diego wouldn’t actually try to kill their big, blonde brother, it still made him nervous. “She’s our mother,” he said, “not just a fucking computer to be turned on and off. She feels things, I’ve seen it.”

“She stood there while dad died,” he said, gesturing roughly towards the television, “and now, she might’ve been the one who stole his journal.” Klaus wanted nothing more than to leave, but he had to make sure that Luther lost the argument, if only for their mother’s sake. If she got shut down, it would be entirely his fault, and he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself for that. “Who knows, it could’ve been on his orders, but that doesn’t change the fact that it just makes her a fucking machine.”

“I’m with Luther on this one,” Allison said cautiously.

Diego scoffed, tucking his knife back into its holster. “Of course you fucking are,” he muttered bitterly. She scowled, brows scrunching up.

They turned towards Vanya, and she looked at their siblings nervously, taking a step back. Knowing that she considered herself powerless and their siblings were so much taller than her, Klaus could understand why she felt afraid, although he was angry they’d even try intimidating her like that. “I don’t,” She stuttered, and Diego threw up his hands.

“She shouldn’t get a vote,” he declared, drawing her ire.

“Hey,” she said indignantly, “I was going to say I agreed with you.”

“Then she should,” he amended, and Luther spluttered. Turning towards Klaus, he glared at him, although he wasn’t angry at him specifically he just was in one of those moods where he was snappy at everything. “What about you, sober boy?” He asked, and the nickname made warmth spread in his chest, despite the gravity of the conversation. _Sober boy_ he thought, practically preening at the otherwise innocuous words.

“I agree with you, that’s what,” he said, looking at Luther, who seemed almost betrayed. It didn’t make him feel too bad, considering he knew that their mother wasn’t guilty. “She shouldn’t be blamed for what dear old papa’ made her do,” he said, “or we’d all be guilty for a lot of shit we did as children. He was a cruel man, and he did cruel things, including to her.”

Luther seemed to wilt at the comment, and Allison stepped forwards. “On second thought,” she said, “I agree with Klaus on this one.”

Could she remember what she did to Vanya? Or was she simply guilty over all the murder they’d done during their teens? As much as they liked to pretend otherwise, all of them had killed. Klaus was the only exception, but that was because he knew if he killed any of them, he’d just have ghosts following him around, tormenting him. He’d seen enough of the ones that harassed his siblings.

“So four to one,” Diego said, “we’re not killing her.”

“What about Five?” Luther said, voice strained. “He should get a vote.”

“It would still be a two-thirds majority if he sided with you,” Klaus pointed out.

Luther visibly deflated, then grumbled to himself something unintelligible before storming out of the room. They followed him visually, and turned their attention after him towards the entry to the livingroom, where mom stood, fiddling nervously with the hem of her dress. Allison left, putting her hand briefly on her shoulder, before being followed out by Vanya, who kept her head down. Diego walked up to her afterwards, and Klaus stood by, Ben anxiously hovering over his shoulder.

“You okay?” Diego asked cautiously, and she grabbed his hand, smoothing her thumbs over his palm.

“I didn’t take the book, Diego,” mom assured him, voice tremulous and slightly desperate. She looked at him imploringly, eyes wide while she wetted her lips, holding his hand close to her chest. “I promise,” she said, “I didn’t.”

“I know,” he said, pulling her close.

It felt like a private moment, but eventually, she peeled back, stepping away and smoothing down her skirt. “I’ll go make cookies,” she chirped, turning around, and they watched while she raced in the direction of the kitchen, keeping her head down.

“I’m sorry that happened,” Klaus said after a moment of silence, and Diego nodded, grunting in acknowledgement. Swallowing tightly, he stepped forwards, nudging him affectionately with his elbow. “You guys have always been close,” he said, “so I recognize how difficult that must’ve been for you.”

“It’s just,” he said, clearly frustrated, “she might’ve been made by dad, but she’s evolved. She has her own personality, her own likes, dislikes, and—“ He groaned, putting his head into his hands. After a moment, he stepped forwards, heading towards the staircase. “Thanks for understanding, Klaus,” he said, “I’m going to go upstairs. I need to be alone.”

He watched him hike the staircase, and sighed, shaking his head. Ben shook his head, exasperated. “You’re too patient,” he said, and his blunt statement was a true first in his life. If there was one word that couldn’t be used to describe him, it was patient. “It’s almost worse,” he said, “knowing the truth, but being unable to do anything about it.”

Musing over the events of the day, he considered raiding daddy’s alcohol cabinet and having a drink, but then _sober boy_ popped into his head and chased all thoughts of drinking his sorrows away from his head. “I need a bath,” he said slowly, and the realization that he was coming down to the end of the wire for his decision on whether or not to intervene with the skirmish later in the night came to him suddenly. It made his throat close up, chest growing tight, and his fingers were numb like he was about to have another panic attack, but he couldn’t afford to waste time.

Walking up the stairs, almost missing a step at the top, he walked down the hallway to his bedroom. After grabbing his headphones and MP3 player, he went back into the hall and opened the door to the bathroom, leaving it open to the hallway. He stripped naked, laying his clothes neatly over the towel rack to make sure they didn’t wrinkle, and turned the knob on the tub to start running a bath, setting his music player onto the windowsill. After a moment of consideration, he grabbed a bottle of bubble solution and squirted it in, swirling his hand in the rising pool of hot water to make it suds up.

After it was full, he turned off the faucet, stepping into the tub. Slowly, he sank beneath the surface of the water, kicking his feet up on the end of the tub and leaning back until he was breathing the water in, eyes closed. It was easy to keep himself calm, having accidentally drowned more times than he could count, and the muffling of the maid’s scream made it worth the instinctive way his body tried to fight for breath. It was quick, struggle leaving him fast, and the silence made it easy for him to ruminate on his dilemma. Because of all the decisions he’d made, he was certain that he’d made them all correctly, but there was no way that he could discern the repercussions of his actions until a later time. Blackness crowding at the edges of his vision, last few breaths of air leaving his body, he weighed his options.

He could do everything differently, and forget about Dave. He could fight the two Commission members that would kidnap him and torture him for hours on end, and stand a fighting chance against them this time around, with whatever wacky powers he’d been developing. He could avoid getting tortured, avoid even getting sent back to the Vietnam War in the first place. He could forget that chapter of his life ever occurred, even though that meant leaving Dave behind, and he could focus only on preventing the apocalypse from happening and saving his siblings. He could forget about Dave, fall in love with some other nice man or woman who treated him just as well, get married if they survive, live out the remainder of his life with them. Stay sober, learn to properly knit, practice until he could make Ben tangible and give him everything he wanted in life. He could forget about Dave. He could forget about Dave.

He should probably forget about Dave.

Rising up from below the now freezing water with a gasp, spluttering as he coughed up what he’d breathed in when he had just drowned, he shivered, glancing around the bathroom. Night had come without him realizing, so deep in his meditation and reflection that he hadn’t noticed that he’d wasted hours of time making his decision. It was calm, quiet, peaceful, and it was with the tranquility it provided that he made his choice.

Reaching towards the windowsill, he grabbed his headset with shaky hands, placing it over his head and closing his eyes while _We’re Through_ by The Hollies blasted into his ears. Breathing in slow, measured breaths, he raised his hands out of the water and rotated them slowly, dancing in his own clumsy manner despite the way his leadened fingers trembled. He allowed his tense muscles to relax, focusing on the way the music made him feel and the smooth tub against his bare skin, and as the outside world faded away, he came to terms with his decision, despite the way it made his stomach twist nervously.

He probably should choose to forget about Dave.

But he couldn’t. He’d always been the disappointment because his heart tended to win over his head, and it seemed like that hadn’t changed. Reginald would be disappointed, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about that, either.

Eventually, he lifted himself out of the bath, wrapping a towel around his head and following it by drying himself off, all shortly before wrapping his towel around himself like a dress. Freshly dry, his heartbeat pounded in his chest while he danced loosely, allowing his two feet to take him wherever they wanted to. And sure, Klaus could end up following a different path and not even run into Hazel and Cha Cha in the first place, avoid getting kidnapped entirely, but he’d rather risk his own neck than live without Dave for another second. He already had set the others on a path to avoiding the apocalypse, sacrificed his own happiness for theirs repeatedly in both this life and the last, hell, he even died for Luther, although both iterations of him didn’t remember it. He deserved something for himself, wanted more than anything else to have Dave back, and even if it took punching God in the face or traveling through time a million times to do it, he’d have him back. He’d gone and replaced the drugs with Dave, made the man into the love of his fucking life, and he couldn’t find it within himself to regret that.

He heard a large crash, and assumed it was the chandelier. In the other timeline’s future, it had been sitting on the carpet when he’d gotten back, shattered to pieces and lying in shambles. A metaphor for his life, he’d initially thought. Minutes later, there was something hard connecting with his brow, probably the butt of a semi-automatic weapon, but despite the shock of pain, his heart leapt into his throat with joy. His stunned form was forcibly dragged outside of his house, headphones falling onto the ground with the towel around his head, and Cha Cha tied his hands together with duct tape that nearly cut off circulation entirely. She smacked it over his mouth while Hazel lowered him into the trunk of a car, wriggling his eyebrows playfully before they roughly slammed it shut, disgust on their faces. He’d survived their torture already, and if he played his cards right, he’d see the love of his life again at the end of it.

Dave’s smile was the only thing he could see when he closed his eyes.

In the end, the decision wasn’t all that difficult. Last time he was gone, his family hadn’t noticed until over a day afterwards, and he still made it to the house before they even started looking for him. They wouldn’t mind if he went missing for another day, especially since it would be the first time for them. The darkness of the trunk was suffocating, but he had Ben hilariously freaking out next to him, no room for any other ghosts within the compartment, and Dave as the only other thing on his mind, so it wasn’t even a bad situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter goes out to those of you who were worried that Dave wouldn’t be coming back. I love my boys too much to not have them meet again. And to answer a couple questions related to timeline, nothing that happened in the original show actually occurred in this version of events — while Klaus remembers everything, none of his actions in Vietnam affected the world, and neither did Five’s actions during nine main storyline. Hazel and Agnes never left with the briefcase either, as much as I adore their relationship, although don’t let that worry you too much in this story. I just don’t want two versions of anyone running amok.
> 
> I’ve been reading all of your lovely comments, and let me just say how flattered I am that you’re enjoying this? I always get nervous posting chapters, but then I read the comments and I’m like, yeah, it’ll be fine even if I think it’s shit. I’m always looking for positive criticism though, so always feel free to tell me if something’s off! A lot of these chapters are posted at two in the morning for me when I just can’t go to sleep, so I’m always going back anyways to fix spelling mistakes and the like. Any comments are welcome comments!
> 
> Also, feel free to give me suggestions for side stories — if something the other characters did that I mentioned warrants more attention or another addition to the series, drop it in the comments below! Feed my itchy writer’s fingers.
> 
> As always, fais attention à toi, and see you around! Next time, Klaus tortures his captors, and learns just how much his siblings care about him.


	8. Sonata in G Major, K. 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klaus has some ‘fun,’ while Hazel and Cha Cha’s experience with strippers and ‘Dolores’ is decidedly not.

Oxygen was starting to run out, but it didn’t matter. He couldn’t really die, although he wouldn’t be able to come back if there wasn’t any air for his lungs to start up with again and he was loathe to thing what his captors would do with his ‘corpse,’ so there was the option of simply dying. He could also kick out the taillight, although it would raise suspicion to see a foot coming through the trunk of a car, so he would save it for an emergency. He’d be let out soon enough anyways, if his memories served him correctly. _Sober Klaus_ was _Smart Klaus_ , and _Smart Klaus_ tended to have a good memory.

He had been stuck in the trunk for a while, alone in the darkness, hands duct taped together with a piece of it slapped over his lips to keep him silent. After the first fifteen minutes, his only major regret was that he was unable to speak, seeing as he desperately wanted to tell Ben to shut the fuck up and give him some peace and quiet, he was fine. It was his choice to get kidnapped. He’d have thought telling Ben that this happened before would reassure him, but he only seemed distressed by the realization.

“This is a horrible decision, Klaus,” he said for the seventeenth time in approximately three hours, laying on his side next to him. It was crowded as it was, but with his ghostly brother in the car next to him, he felt like he needed to squish himself against the back wall, even though he didn’t need space. They were so close together that their knees were literally passing through each other. He was glad he hadn’t started accidentally making Ben tangible, because he wasn’t sure what would happen if he became physically corporeal while Klaus was phasing through him. “We need to be with the others to stop the apocalypse,” he insisted, “you said it yourself. What if they kill you?”

Klaus couldn’t answer, although he wanted to say _you know better than anyone that I can’t die, Ben._ It wouldn’t be hyperbole, either, considering that he’d been tight-lipped about who that secret got out to. Besides Ben, only God knew he couldn’t die, and she was probably the one who caused the once bothersome power of immortality. Dave had given him something to live for, and he had grown fond of his ability to escape during their time in the jungle. As it was, he grunted, rolling his eyes, and Ben scoffed.

“I don’t want to see you hurt,” he grumbled, and although he made the confession in an angry, begrudging tone of voice, Klaus could still hear a subtle tremble of concern in his words. “You said that you were fine the last time this happened,” he continued, “but just because you physically escaped harm doesn’t mean you will again.”

He had a valid point, but again, he was forgetting that Klaus couldn’t actually die. It was a null point, and he was already being selfish simply by deciding to get kidnapped again. He wasn’t about to waste his only opportunity to steal back the love of his life from death’s grasp. He’d been so excited, thinking that he had died and would get to be with Dave in heaven, but after that massive disappointment, he was ready to fight God herself to get him back. Shrugging again, he stretched as best he could, flexing his achy muscles. His arms and legs were cramping up with how they were positioned, and he knew going inside the motel would be rough.

Hearing the sound of the trunk unlocking, he breathed a sigh of relief that they were taking him out. “Shit,” Ben cursed, slipping out of the car and standing next to it helplessly. Klaus watched as Cha Cha and Hazel appeared, the night sky still dark as street lights illuminated their masked heads from behind. They exchanged a look, before Hazel was reaching inside, grabbing him like a sack of flour and slinging him roughly over his shoulder. His upper body was dangling upside down, blood rushing to his head, and he blinked at the stars dancing in his vision. The grip on his leg was tight enough to be painful, and he knew that he would develop bruises.

Dragged into the hotel room, he shoved him onto a wooden chair, only removing the duct tape from his wrists long enough to position them behind him, although it still allowed blood flow to return to his deadened limbs. Taping his ankles to the legs of the chair, Hazel stepped back to survey his handiwork, as Cha Cha worked to set up their ‘workspace.’ He wasn’t looking forwards to the torture part, but he reminded himself that it would end with Dave, and Dave would always be worth it in his eyes.

After they stepped back, shuffling around behind him, before they walked between him and the television again, arms crossed over their chests in an attempt at intimidating him, although he already knew all of their little tricks to try and make him talk. Cha Cha stepped forwards, ripping the duct tape off his mouth. Smiling widely, he rolled his neck to pop it, shrugging his shoulders to loosen them. His knee bouncing in anticipation, he tried to ignore Ben’s disappointed expression. “You’d be surprised at how often this happens!” He crowed, looking between the two of them and trying to remain calm and confident. Cha Cha put her hands on her hips, cocking her head in confusion. “At this point,” he continued, “I’m a professional at bondage! If you’d told me that this was what you had in mind, I could’ve grabbed some rope before we left and made it real sexy—“

Hazel punched him in the cheekbone, muscular arm striking him with the force of a vehicle. He was thrown back, chair wobbling under the force of it, and he knew there’d be a massive bruise across his cheek later. Stretching out his jaw, he flexed his hands, wishing he was able to rub at the injury. “We’re not here to play nice,” he barked harshly through his mask, shoulders squared.

“You sure know how to treat a lady, hm?” He wheezed instead of answering the question, smiling serenely up at the man. The comment earned him another hit, and he wondered if he’d eventually just break his jaw again. The last time had been a pain, and he didn’t want to have to deal with that while trying to stop the apocalypse, so he made a conscious decision to tone down the sarcastic commentary. It wouldn’t do to be handicapped when he needed to talk his way out of situations, although he could pull an Allison and get a notepad.

“What’s your name?” Cha Cha asked, and he shrugged.

“What’s in a name?” He mused, but when Hazel reared back his fist, he backtracked quickly on the response. “Klaus,” he answered quickly, watching as Hazel dropped his fist.

“Hargreeves?” He asked, tone surprised, and when he nodded, he exchanged a glance with Cha Cha.

She walked around him slowly, turning to face him again. “I think this is our guy,” she said ominously, and Klaus really didn’t want to know what she could mean by it. He wasn’t a target beforehand, so it was concerning that they clearly recognized his name. “Where’s Five?” She asked, grabbing a long stick, and he winced, frowning.

“Sorry,” he apologized, “no clue! They never tell me anything.”

She whipped him with the stick on the shoulder, but it was no worse than when Reginald would strike him or his siblings with his cane, or when somebody got a little rough during sexual encounters. “You’re his associate,” she said, clocking him firmly in the chin. That one stung a bit more. “He would’ve told you where he was going.”

Klaus wasn’t about to tell her the name of the hospital he was staking out, and he assumed they’d already marked the Academy as a no-fly zone. Without drugs for her to stomp on, he knew that his willpower would likely win out over their abuse. “Honestly,” he said, laying on the misery heavy, “he doesn’t trust me, not after I kissed his lover!”

“Who’s his lover?” Cha Cha said slowly, backing off. Oh, he could have some fun with this.

“Her name,” he said, voice cracking, “is Dolores.” They exchanged another meaningful glance between themselves, and he knew they were buying into it, maybe because Five had name-dropped her at some point or another. “She’s lovely,” he sighed wistfully, “big, beautiful blue eyes, she looked like she was painted by Monet.” It was easy to blather on when he had experience. “We had a brief dalliance,” he said with a shrug, “although she wanted to remain loyal to him, despite his, ah, unfortunate condition. She told him of our torrid affair, and he’s never looked at me the same.”

She whacked him in the head again, and he cursed. He was giving her what they wanted to know already — no need to be abusive. “And where does this woman live?” Hazel asked, sounding eager.

“Like I’d tell you,” Klaus scoffed, playing coy with his false information. He was supposed to be in love with her, after all! He’d never give away Dave’s information, so of course it would be difficult to wrangle information about his brother’s mannequin girlfriend from him. He doubted they’d believe he’d spill the information easily anyways.

He was struck twice more by the baton, before Cha Cha nodded towards her associate, who grabbed a knife from off the table. Klaus’ blood pressure rose, heart rate increasing while he could hear his pulse in his ears, and he swallowed dryly. Grabbing him by the shell of his ear, he lined the knife up with the side of his head, pulling it outwards. “Where is she?” He asked threateningly, voice sounding bored. Maybe he thought that relevant details would be more of a challenge to get out of him. “Give us a last name, an address, something,” he demanded.

“No!” Klaus yelped, struggling in the chair. He was taking a risk by fighting back, but he figured that he hadn’t stepped over the line yet. Straining against his bindings, he made a show of trying to break loose. “I’ll never tell you!”

“Klaus,” Ben scolded, shaking his head.

He pressed the blade into his ear, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to notice. “Do you wanna’ lose an ear over a taken woman?” Hazel queried, clearly incredulous. They were buying into it so well, that Klaus had to stop himself from laughing out loud. “Doesn’t seem quite worth it,” he pointed out.

Lips twisting, he tried to look as conflicted as possible. Maybe in another life he would’ve been an actor, like Allison. He’d done a convincing enough job of it at the Meritech labs, and he talked his way out of every conflict he’d been in beforehand, besides the time at the Veteran’s Bar. Finally, he released a fake sob, shaking his head. “Fine, I’ll tell you where she lives! Just don’t hurt me,” he pleaded shakily, and Hazel pulled away.

“Where’s the lady at, then?” Cha Cha asked, audibly pleased with herself.

Klaus prattled off an address, trying not to laugh. It would be so funny when they got back from the destination he was sending them to, but he hoped they wouldn’t be too abusive, although the amusement would be worth it by far. He figured he could also try to make his escape — he knew the briefcase would likely be in the vent, and with the time it would take to get there, he could work on making Ben corporeal.

“Remember,” Cha Cha said, “the easier you make this for us, the more likely it is that you escape with your life.”

 _Unlikely_ , Klaus thought amusedly. He watched while they gathered up their materials, preparing to head off and explore the false lead he’d given them. He couldn’t believe they’d actually fallen for it — he’d legitimately believed they were good investigators, although they could be somewhat dumb at times.

When they left, he waited until they had hopped in their vehicle and started driving away before he beamed at Ben, decidedly ignoring how much his body was aching already. He’d gotten much worse treatment than the last time, although he was being decidedly more of an asshole. They’d forgotten to gag him again, too, which meant he could freely talk to his brother.

“What d’ya think?” He asked his brother smugly.

“I think you’re the dumbest, most difficult person I’ve ever met,” Ben said dryly, although Klaus could tell that his brother was simply concerned and taking it out on him. He tapped his fingers on the edge of the television stand, bouncing his knee. “You shouldn’t have come here again,” he continued, voice strained, and Klaus shook his head.

“You won’t understand until you meet him,” he insisted. Ben wouldn’t be able to know how much Klaus was in love with Dave until he could see him for himself, and he fully intended to bring Dave back to the present with him. “Now,” he said, “let’s work at getting me freed.”

There were three options for him — either wait for somebody to come passing by the window for him to shout at, try to make Ben corporeal, or make an attempt breaking the chair.

He chose the final option first, launching himself into the air with his feet and intentionally trying to land on the chair in such a manner as to breath the wooden bars and blocks that made it. Instead, he landed on his back, the wood digging into his spine, and the landing winded him, knocking the breath from his lungs. The chair didn’t break, only landing him in an uncomfortable position, and he released a keening sound, blinking silently at the ceiling.

“What the _fuck_ , Klaus?” Ben asked, moving above him. He whimpered in response, focusing on breathing evenly. It was a horrible decision, but he’d felt the wood bend and creak, and if he could only get his upper half freed, he’d be able to extract the rest of himself, or at least grab the briefcase with his released hands.

“Just,” he croaked, trying to roll over. Using his body weight, he threw himself towards the window, landing on his side, then used the leverage to push himself onto his stomach so his face was in the filthy motel carpet. From there, he somehow managed to launch himself so he flew upwards, although he landed right back into the floor, neck bent awkwardly. After several more attempts, he finally managed to lift himself up fully, all four legs of the chair on the ground while he caught his breath.

“That was a bad idea,” Ben said needlessly.

“Too bad,” Klaus said, trying again.

He tried it several more times before they returned, although each attempt ended in similar results. A few hours later, the door clicked as it was unlocked, and Hazel and Cha Cha walked back inside the motel room. He was lucky to have been sitting vertically, or they might’ve slammed the door into his skull.

Covered head to toe in sparkling glitter, Hazel was very obviously missing his tie, hair messed up with a lipstick mark on his cheek. He had a hollow look in his eye, like soldiers after a nasty skirmish in Vietnam, or the cases of shell-shock he’d seen on the field. Judging by the distinct lack of blood on either of their clothing, there hadn’t been any fighting, but Cha Cha had a dubious yellow stain on her shirt that might’ve been beer. Neither of them were wearing their masks, instead clutching them in their hands.

The punch to his side from Cha Cha was understandable, but didn’t make it hurt any less. There was a sickening crunch and a burst of pain, and he knew he’d fractured something, crumpling forwards with a wheezy laugh. If he’d been on the ground, one of them might’ve kicked him in the balls. “Low blow,” he gasped, stretching out as best he could despite the burn in his chest, and Cha Cha slapped him harshly across the face.

“First, we get there, and it’s a fucking _strip club,_ ” she said, tone unamused while her partner headed straight for the bathroom. Soon after, he heard the faucet turn on, water splattering against porcelain. “Then,” she continued, expression strained, “when we ask for Dolores, we get a stripper, and it’s her stage name, not her actual one.”

“She’s a wacky girl, what can I say?” He asked, cackling in amusement.

“She had brown eyes, not blue, and she charged us for ‘information’,” said with air quotations, “which actually turned out to be some kinky roleplay thing, and Hazel didn’t realize he was getting a lap dance until the woman removed his tie.” Scoffing, she shook her head, folding her arms across her chest. “After we stopped it, we thought that she gave us information on Five,” she said with a sigh, “but the music was loud, and she thought we said Clive.”

“Oh, I know Clive!” He exclaimed. “He’s a real asshole. Small dick, too, and—“

Tossing her mask onto the bed, she grabbed the wire off the bedsheet, wrapping it around his throat before he could continue scarring her with his intimate knowledge of the Clive he was fairly certain she was talking about. Prolific with strip clubs, that one. He bought cocaine off him once. She pulled it taught, and he felt blood flow being cut off, esophagus being compressed alongside his veins. Gasping for air, he shut his eyes, focusing on the sensation to avoid freaking out at the sudden oxygen deprivation in his brain.

He’d trained his body into accepting hypoxia as a turn-on years before, and he allowed himself to become aroused, just for the sake of freaking Cha Cha out again. Gasping, he trembled, clenching the arms of the chair. “N-no,” he stuttered, “don’t—“ Cha Cha pulled it tighter, and he leaned into it, ignoring the black at the edge of his vision. She loosened it just enough for him to not black out, and he squirmed. “Don’t— ah, stop, don’t stop—!”

“Wait,” Cha Cha said, looking into his lap before pulling away with an exasperated sigh, pressing a hand against her forehead. He shook his head, curls bouncing, and beamed at her. “You’re enjoying this, you sick bastard,” she pointed out, and he shrugged.

“You’re a lot nicer than some of the guys I’ve been with,” he said, and something like pity flashed across her face before it was quickly disguised again.

Laughing weakly, she shook her head. “No wonder you’re so fucked up,” she mused, and he had to agree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this segment turned out quite a bit longer than I expected!
> 
> I was planning on one chapter of Klaus whump, but ah, you’ll get a little more than that. Steel yourselves for the next publication, because the next chapter is gonna’ be a... trip. Mind the tags.
> 
> Tell me how many Vietnam chapters y’all want, because the number is going to be somewhere between three or four-ish, or a lot more than that. Option A is a short jog through Vietnam, while Option B is decidedly, uh, longer than that. A lot longer than that. So I’ll let you choose, because I’ll post a lot more in the side-stories if we keep it short, and we’ll be able to get back to main plot quicker.
> 
> So, let the voting commence! I love democracy.
> 
> Meanwhile, next time we rejoin our titular protagonist, all this timeline changing catches up to Klaus, and we discover just how his actions have affected the Commission’s plans for dealing with Five and the fate of the apocalypse. Shit hits the fan, to be metaphorical.


	9. The Carnival of the Animals, R. 125: XIII, The Swan (Arr. for Cello and Piano)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klaus knew he should have been more careful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: mildly graphic depictions of torture, major character death, discussion of abuse.

Cha Cha waited out the hour before Hazel finished in the bathroom, a box of doughnuts laying next to her on the bed. She ate them slowly, staring up at the ceiling and having only changed out of her glitter-covered jacket, and he wondered what had made them quit trying to wear their freaky animal masks in front of him. He supposed they were too exhausted to care. She made a half-hearted attempt to beat him into answering, but he made a joke about that turning him on, too, and she had given up and gagged him again, disgusted.

It sucked that he couldn’t speak, but while they waited, the ghosts of people they killed came back. Zoya was first, fussing with his hair and trying to comfort him, while the others began appearing afterwards. They chattered about their deaths, but also about other things, like their hobbies and children and former careers. He’d never had the opportunity to simply listen to what they had to say, driving them away with drugs, alcohol, and sex before they could do more than scream at him, and it was enlightening. There were still the monstrous ghosts at the mausoleum, having spent so much time dead and surrounded by death that the only thing left was their misery, but he’d never known the human side of them.

Ben tried keeping him calm, murmuring comforting words about how it would all be over soon, and how he’d see Dave in the end, but he’d been afraid of them so long that it didn’t stop his heart from racing, sweat building on his skin. It was like withdrawal, but he knew that it was fear. Even after twenty years, he still couldn’t get over how terrified he was of the dead, and it made shame blossom in his chest, eating him from the inside. He should’ve gotten over it, but despite how nice these ghosts were in comparison, he’d dealt with the ghosts from Vietnam for so long, and then only had to deal with the maids at home, and the occasional spirit when he was out and about or around Five. It hadn’t been like this, strapped to a chair and _terrified_ out of his goddamn mind.

“These ghosts don’t want to hurt you,” Ben assured him, and Zoya nodded vigorously, crouched down next to him like he was an upset child. His brother paced in front of him, evidently nervous but still maintaining a calm countenance. He’d always been good at disguising his anxiety, but Klas knew he worried about him. If Ben was alive, he was certain that he would’ve had an aneurism by the time they were thirty. “They just want you to help them.”

There were those who wanted him to listen, to comfort and touch them and make them feel better, and there were those that wanted him to put his hands around their throats and squeeze, or to point their gun at them and pull the trigger. He’d never bothered actually helping the ghosts, but it made him wonder whether it would actually help to get them away from him.

“She put a pillow against my face and told me to not bother praying,” the Farsi-speaking woman said, gesturing towards herself, and another ghost nodded in sympathy, an axe sticking out of his head.

“They trapped me in my office,” he explained, “and chased me around before killing me, like cats with a mouse.”

It was cruel, and he sympathized in spite of his fear. His major flaw had always been that he cared too much — when he was young, the ghosts that visited him often made him more sad than afraid, until Reginald had started sending him to the mausoleum, with all its rabid spirits. “They ran me over with their car,” Jan Mueller said with a shaky voice, “forwards and back. My wife, she managed to run away and escape down an alleyway.”

He couldn’t look too long at their injuries, and wondered if he could make a conscious effort to make them look nicer. It had naturally happened with Ben and Zoya, their wounds disappearing after a while in their company, but he didn’t know if it was a conscious effort. If he could clean them up, he wondered if it would make him less afraid.

Eventually, the shower turned off, and Hazel came out in only his button down and pants, shirt untucked with a towel around his neck and a haunted look in his eyes. Cha Cha stood and removed his gag at last, ripping the tape off and pulling the rag out of his mouth, and he stretched his sore jaw, finally able to move it from the position it had been locked in. Staring at them warily, he put on his brave face, trying to ignore the plethora of ghosts that surrounded them in a quiet circle. “How were you guys so gullible as to think that Five could possibly have a girlfriend?” He asked, amused.

Hazel punched him in the face so hard, he could’ve sworn that his soul left his body. It was strange, having an out of body experience where he was suddenly uncomfortably close to a very startled Luther’s face in the oaf’s bedroom, but when he tried to say something, he only managed to get out a strangled ‘help’ before he was being dragged back to his own body.

Shaking his head and trying to blink the encroaching darkness out of his vision, he smiled woozily up at them, hunching over in the chair to protect his soft guts. “Waterboard him,” Cha Cha ordered, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around his face, and that was his only warning before Hazel was grabbing a pitcher of water and dumping it on him.

He couldn’t breathe, and wasn’t even able to suck in a deep breath before they’d started, but he’d drowned in the tub more times than he could count on both hands. His lungs were used to being denied, and so he used the opportunity to quench his thirst, sucking on the towel and opening his mouth to let the liquid pool inside before swallowing. He relished the feeling of being hydrated, knowing that it would be hours before he could drink again, and by the time he was inhaling water, lungs burning, they were removing the towel. He coughed and hacked up liquid, but still found the strength to beam at them, liquid dripping off his face. “I needed that,” he said, “so thank you, thank you!”

“He’s insane,” Jan muttered to himself, and he couldn’t help but agree that it was a fair assessment. His grip on reality had always been tenuous at best, and sober, he was too tired to care.

“I don’t know how he can stand this,” the tow truck man with the electrocuted nipples said. What a way to go, being zapped on the nipples until you died.

The cheerleader crossed her arms over her chest. “I think he just has experience,” she said, and it was the closest thing to the truth that any of them had guessed. He’d been tortured before, and although they had started using increasingly extreme methods, it would be hard for anyone to do something to him that hadn’t been done before.

“You have no idea,” he said, and Hazel and Cha Cha wouldn’t have known that he was talking to the ghosts of their victims rather than himself or them. After all, they couldn’t see the spirits, and he’d just been talking to them.

“Shut up!” Cha Cha barked, smacking him in the head. “This isn’t working,” she said to Hazel, who shook his head tiredly, defeated.

“Maybe we just aren’t going about it the right way,” he suggested, scratching nervously at the back of his neck. His posture was tense, like the shower hadn’t helped him relax in the slightest, but Klaus didn’t feel too bad about it. They’d killed Diego’s friend, tortured him, and tried to murder his siblings, after all, so it was hard to feel too sympathetic. “What was it the handbook said?”

“Get to know your target,” Cha Cha answered.

“Although,” Hazel said, “there’s nothing we can do to get to know him. All he has is a towel.”

“I’m sure there are records of him somewhere,” Cha Cha mused.

He didn’t like where that was going. Smiling, he changed the topic of conversation. “Did you guys know that you killed my sister’s grandmother?” He asked, and they stalled, looking down at him in surprise.

“How do you know that?” Cha Cha asked stiffly, confused and concerned, but he continued, ignoring her.

“Back in eighty-nine is when it happened,” Klaus explained, and they exchanged a worried glance between themselves, frowning. He hadn’t been too angry before, but he hadn’t really known her then, and now, he knew that her being alive could’ve saved Vanya from being raised by Reginald. “Her name was Zoya Popova, and her existence would have prevented the apocalypse,” he said, “so you killed her by bashing her in the head with a—“

“A metal pipe,” Zoya filled in.

“—a metal pipe,” he concluded. It felt like he was playing Clue. Hazel and Cha Cha killed Zoya in Russia with the metal pipe. All the pieces were falling nicely into place, and when they exchanged a worried glance, he knew he guessed right about their motivation for killing her.

“Come over here for a second,” Cha Cha mumbled, roughly grabbing Hazel by the elbow and dragging him back into the bathroom.

They guy with the axe in his head highfived Ben, and another ghost started clapping. One of them disappeared through the wall before coming back out, a smile on their disfigured face. “They think you’re psychic, or have precognition,” she explained, and Klaus gave her a shaky grin.

“Not too far off,” he quipped.

When they came back out, they were significantly warier, approaching him slowly and with noticeable caution. Cha Cha came closer first, the braver of the two, while Hazel stood back. “How did you know about Zoya Popova?” She asked slowly.

“She’s here right now,” he explained, “in this room.” Cha Cha’s eyes widened in clear concern, lips pursing. He figured that would be worrying for anyone to find out the person they knew that they killed was still hanging around. “And she’s really pissed at you guys.”

They were silent for a moment, before Hazel threw up his hands in defeat. “I can’t deal with this anymore,” Hazel declared, throwing his towel over the back of the rolling chair at the room’s desk. He watched as he grabbed a set of suspenders from his luggage, putting them on. “Let’s go leave a message at that family compound,” he suggested, “so we can just be done with this.”

“Fine by me,” Cha Cha agreed.

They gagged him again, and he thought they would simply leave him in the center of the motel room, but Hazel lifted him up, chair and all, and brought him over to the closet. He froze, breathing quickening while he was placed inside, and he hardly had another moment to panic before they were shoving the closet shut and leaving him in the darkness.

It was cramped, and the only light came in through the slats in the door. He could hear the front door to the motel room open and slam shut, and it left him with the chattering or the ghosts outside of the room, and Ben sitting behind him, pressed close to the wall. A high-pitched whine of panic escaped his throat involuntarily, and it was growing hard to breath, sweat gathering on his forehead and in his palms.

“Klaus,” Ben said soothingly, “stay calm. You’ve survived this long.”

But he didn’t care, because suddenly all he could think about was the mausoleum, how cold and cramped it had been, curled into a corner behind a stone sarcophagus with spirits trying to grab at his hair and flesh. He was freezing, soaking wet from the waterboarding and still only dressed in a towel, and the chilly air from a vent above him nipped at his skin. He was trapped, and his body responded like he was there again, or trapped in the muddy, claustrophobic bunkers in Vietnam, tired and exhausted and scared while still being high out of his mind.

Klaus was dissociating, getting lost in the flashbacks, and he could feel how his fingertips had gotten numb, pins and needles racing through his legs. He shook like a leaf in the wind, sobs rising out of his throat, and the images racing through his mind were from Vietnam and his childhood alike. As much as he tried listening to Ben’s gentle words, he couldn’t focus on them enough to get a clear, coherent message.

When Hazel and Cha Cha finally returned, he was almost relieved. They grabbed him from the closet, setting him up in the center of the room again, and Cha Cha ripped off his gag, tossing the duct tape into the trash bin before Klaus spat the cloth from his mouth. He suddenly could breath again, and despite the ghosts that surrounded them, it was better than the cramped closet he had been alone inside. Standing in front of him, they considered him silently, and he got the sense that it would be better to stay quiet for once.

“We haven’t gotten anything out of him,” Hazel mused as if he couldn’t hear him speaking. Grabbing a jelly doughnut, he started munching on it, powder smearing around his lips. “It’s been almost a full day,” he said around a mouthful, “and the guy hasn’t cracked once.” They ruminated on that for a long moment, and the ghosts stirred restlessly, murmuring between themselves.

“Let’s just kill him and accomplish that half of the mission,” Cha Cha declared at last, shaking her head as she leaned against the television stand. Klaus froze, looking between her and Hazel. While he looked conflicted, brows furrowed, Cha Cha seemed like she’d made her decision.

“Klaus, did this happen before?” Ben asked, concerned.

“No,” he said, answering his brother, but Hazel seemed to think he was talking to them.

“Yeah, maybe that isn’t the best idea,” Hazel said slowly.

Cha Cha shook her head. “You said it yourself,” she argued, walking around him. Klaus tried to crane his neck to watch her, but he couldn’t twist his head around far enough. “We’re not going to get anything out of him,” she said, “and he’s been more of a pain in the ass than he’s worth. We should be getting double time for this, because he’s barely the one being tortured at this point.”

“But we can still use him as a hostage,” Hazel protested weakly.

“We still don’t know what he’s capable of,” Cha Cha pointed out, “so for all we know, he’s waiting for an opportunity to, I don’t know, raise the undead or some shit like that. Seems on-brand for him.” Pressing the heel of her palm against her forehead like she was fighting a migraine, she sighed heavily. “Listen, I know you’re sensitive,” she said almost gently, as if she wasn’t trying to convince her partner to kill him, “so if you don’t feel you can handle it, then hand your weapon over to me and I’ll do the job for you.”

“Do something,” Ben demanded, “please. Just get out of here.”

Hazel considered her argument with a frown, before he shrugged, reaching for his holster. “No, I’ll do it,” he said, “but I still think it’s a bad idea.”

The cool barrel of the gun was pressed against his forehead, and he felt his blood run cold.

“Klaus,” Ben said, voice trembling, “you need to do something. Anything.” He sounded distraught, more emotional than Klaus had ever heard him, and he wondered if it was how he sounded when he died. When Klaus had run away without him, allowed him to be killed without his best friend at his side.

Fingertips numbing, toes curling into the carpet, the ghosts around him sucked in breaths of anticipation. His fight or flight instinct took over, and it told him to make the ghosts corporeal, throw shit around with his mind, or something, but his powers had been as fickle as he was and nothing happened, even though he was in danger. His powers always seemed to appear reflexively, but he was doing everything he could to make them manifest, and it was doing absolutely nothing. Ironically, the other ghosts started to leave the motel room. They could harass him for days on end, scream at him while he drowned, but couldn’t stand watching him die by handgun rather than bathtub.

“Kill him, and we’ll have eliminated the second target,” Cha Cha said ominously, and despite the fear that was coursing through him, he frowned, not understanding what she could possibly mean by second target. She’d recognized his name, and said that killing him would complete half of their mission, but Five was their mission before, the entire reason they were in 2019 to begin with. It didn’t make any sense. Zoya covered her mouth with her fingers, tears springing to her eyes as she chattered incoherently in Russian, too fast and quiet for Klaus to understand. “We have to follow the orders the Commission gives us, Hazel. He’s trying to stop the apocalypse just like Five.”

“I’m sorry, Benny,” he croaked, holding out on the hope that his power of resurrection extended to all traumatic brain injuries, not just hypoxia and bashing his head into hard surfaces. He watched as his brother started crying for the first time since he’d died, and Klaus started crying, too, clenching his hands into fists behind him and steeling himself for the shot he was certain would come soon.

“Sorry ‘bout all this,” Hazel said weakly, drawing ire from his partner. Klaus could understand why he was doing it, how he felt obligated, and decided to forgive them for everything. It wasn’t as if they had been any better — and anyways, he was fairly certain the oaf had defected at the end of the last timeline. He was always told that he was too willing to forgive and forget, but he’d learned a long time before that holding onto resentment didn’t make him any happier.

“It’s o-okay,” Klaus assured, to nobody in particular, and he could’ve sworn he watched Hazel’s lip quiver as Ben collapsed to his knees. Zoya buried her face into her hands.

Hazel pulled the trigger, and all Klaus heard was the bang.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhanger, but I’m also doing a double update, so you shouldn’t be too mad at me, lol.
> 
> It has been decided that we’ll go for Option A, a short jog through Vietnam highlights, but don’t worry! I’ll be making an entire optional side-story (probably of a similar length to this one) to detail his entire second time in Vietnam from start to finish, because I’m a nerd like that.
> 
> Next time, Klaus finds home again.


	10. Piano Sonata No. 17 in D Minor, Op. 31, No. 2 — “The Tempest”: 3. Allegretto

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klaus comes home, Diego suffers from emotional whiplash. Eudora is a reluctant witness to it all.

_He wasn’t in heaven, that was for sure._

_The world around him was colorful, garishly so, in a bright, obnoxious manner that made his eyes feel dry and his head ache. The buildings were plain and utilitarian, essentially featureless boxes, besides the rainbow-colored murals painted across their sides. The only life around him was dozens of the same fruit trees, bearing almost fluorescent red fruits that looked like stop lights, or how he’d imagine the eyes of Mothman did._

_Blinking back tears that sprung into his eyes, he held a hand over them like it would help, although the entire world felt like it radiated the same amount of light as the sun. Taking a few steps forwards, he realized that he himself was the only thing in black and white — like whatever place he was had leached the color out of him, and the vibrancy as well. He felt morose, almost like he was wading in a pool of syrup, and as he tried to move towards the door to the building closest to him, he collapsed, rolling onto his back. Shutting his eyes tightly, he breathed slowly while he pushed himself up onto his elbows, shifting to his knees while trying not to vomit._

_When he opened his eyes, he spotted a figure moving towards him at a rapid speed, but when the individual grew closer, he wondered if he was hallucinating. Speeding towards him on wheelies was a man with a neon-green, backwards baseball cap, sunglasses on his face, and denim shorts as the only clothing he wore. He paused above him, a smile stretched wide across his face while he stuffed his hands into his pockets. While he was classically handsome, he radiated an obfuscating aura of douchebag, posture confident._

_“Dude, you look awful,” he said, still smirking down at him, and he felt a wave of anger wash over him._

_“Listen, asshole,” Klaus started, “I just got shot in the head—“_

_“I know,” the stranger interrupted._

_“—and you’re—“ He paused, brows furrowing, then frowned. “What?”_

_Laughing, he waved his hands around. “Don’t you know where you‘re at?” The stranger asked, like the answer should’ve been obvious, and he squinted up at him, trying to think of where he could be._

_He wasn’t in Heaven, but he also knew he was dead. “Hell?” He asked, and the stranger’s smile told him everything he needed to know. Pressing his palms against his eyes, he groaned tiredly, stomach twisting into anxious, unhappy knots. “Why does everything look like this?” He asked, and the man who he supposed was the devil shrugged._

_“Torture is relative,” he answered, not bothering to explain further. Klaus kept his eyes pressed firmly shut, but the light somehow burned through his eyelids, continuing to sting his eyes. “I’d say you’re just my type,” he said, “hedonistic, attractive, traumatized and miserable, but...”_

_“But, what?” He asked, too finished with the situation._

_“But you’re so soft,” he concluded exasperatedly, and Klaus pouted. He wasn’t soft, not by any stretch of the imagination, all bony joints and firm muscle, like cloth covering a skeleton. “You love way too easily,” he said, “and that’s so enormously boring.” Opening his eyes, Klaus watched while he shook his head, and while the action seemed nonchalant, there was something strained in his expression. “I’m gonna’ have to pass,” he concluded._

_“Fuck you,” Klaus said._

_“I’m not the bottom, here,” Satan retorted, flashing a gang sign as he wheelied off into the distance._

When he came to, the first thing that he noticed was that the bed had been flipped upside down, mattress several feet away. The second was that he’d been moved from a sitting position, to laying down on the floor.

The curtains were absolutely shredded, while the light bulbs in the ceiling and the lamps had exploded, shattering glass across the floor. He could see dents in the walls, scratches in the paint, from which he drew the logical conclusion that every item in the room had been violently tossed about, also supported by the fact that various vases, dressers, and other miscellaneous items were lying on the stained carpet, scattered. He heard incoherent talking, and there was a pressure on his chest, although he couldn’t place what it could possibly be. He could tell that his nose was bleeding by the way warmth trickled down his upper lip and cheek, and he couldn’t be sure if the blood on his ears was from his nose or his ears itself.

Taking a hitching breath, he tried to push away the heavy weight on his chest, only to have it start grabbing at him. His head was pulsing, registering things at one frame per second, but as he blinked clear his blurry vision, he could make out Diego, tears streaming down his face, and the detective from both the office they visited, and, now that he recognized her, he also realized she was the lady cop who rescued him the first time. “Diego,” he croaked, and his brother wrapped him in an embrace.

“Klaus,” his brother sobbed, “I s-sh-shouldn’t have f-failed you, I should’ve p-paid mo-m-more attention—“

“It’s alright, Diego,” he said somewhat numbly, “this has happened before! It’s okay.” His words didn’t seem to soothe Diego, although he was trying to be reassuring. The lingering headache was becoming tolerable, although he still felt like he’d been shot in the head. Reaching up, he touched his brow, and although his fingertips came away bloody, there wasn’t any wound. “You couldn’t have known,” he assured him.

“I found y-your headphones,” Diego continued inconsolably, disregarding his reassurances, “a-and a lot o-o-of blood in t-the ca-ca-carpet, a-and I was worried that you w-were already dead.” His fingers clenched his hair tighter, the pull almost painful, and Klaus rubbed a hand over his clothed back in large circles. “Then we c-came here,” he said, “and y-you...”

Had a bullet in his forehead, and probably still had it bouncing around in there, yeah. He could see how it could be traumatizing to Diego, but he was still alive, and that should’ve been the part he was freaking out over — not the torture that came beforehand, that he’d even encouraged them to continue. They had nothing on him the second time around, and he hadn’t even cracked! He said absolutely nothing about the glass eyeball, or Harold Jenkins, or even his knowledge of the apocalypse.

“I was fine,” he tried to say, but Diego shook his head.

“Wha-what the fu-fuck happened t-to you t-th-that made y-you think that t-this is f-fine?” He asked, gesturing aggressively around the room, and Eudora leaned forwards to place a comforting hand on his shoulder. She was clearly shaken, skin pale and clammy, but her lips were curled up in a relieved smile.

“Diego,” Eudora said, “let’s just get him to my place.” Klaus’ brother deflated, face falling as he nodded in consent. He clearly was out of it, and he sympathized with him. Diego had to see Ben dead, and now Klaus, although in his case it wasn’t permanent. “He’s had a rough day,” she continued, turning her attention towards him. Grabbing him gently by the upper arm, she massaged it soothingly. “Can we help you up?” She asked.

“No biggie,” he answered, letting her pull him to his feet. Her expression was concerned, like he’d said something to worry her, but he still couldn’t understand why they were so damn worried about him. He was clearly fine, which should have been the concerning part! It wasn’t as if he was traumatized, or something. “Wait,” he said, whipping around and looking towards the grate where he knew the briefcase should be.

His heart leapt into his throat with concern, because Hazel and Cha Cha were gone and they could’ve taken it, but his stomach untangled when he saw it still sitting in the vent, a beacon of hope. Reaching out, he tugged, and it went flying into his hands with a bang as the metal grate popped off, clattering against debris.

“What the fuck,” Diego exclaimed quietly, as even Eudora stumbled back, her eyes as wide as saucers. He looked at his brother smugly, holding up the towel as he clutched the briefcase protectively against his chest. He was going to see Dave again, and the thought made him feel so elated that it made him feel like he needed to throw up.

Which he promptly did, leaning to the side as he spat up bile, flecked with bright vermillion blood. He hadn’t eaten since the day before, which was good, because it meant that the fluid simply tasted sour rather than revolting, and it was simply liquid. Eudora leaned forwards, rubbing his shoulders while he emptied his stomach, and Diego choked back another sob. Wiping the back of his mouth, he gasped for breath, swishing saliva and spitting it back out onto the carpet to try and reduce the foul taste in his mouth.

“Let’s get going,” he suggested shakily, and they both nodded, supporting him while they walked out to the police cruiser parked outside. He could barely walk, every inch of his body sore while his head and ribs throbbed, and Diego lowered him into the backseat, slipping in beside him.

“We’re o-okay,” his brother mumbled, pulling him close, and Klaus was so stunned by the gesture that he allowed himself to be pulled close, resting his head against Diego’s shoulder as a strong arm wrapped around his waist. He buried his nose into Klaus’ matted curls, and grabbed Klaus’ hand with his shaky fingers. Klaus continued to clutch his briefcase with his other hand. “You, you’re alive, and w-wuh-we’re all okay, n-now.”

“Buckled up?” Eudora asked, and Diego wordlessly buckled Klaus, then himself afterwards. The car started moving, heading towards what he assumed was her house, and Klaus allowed himself to relax at last, eyelids fluttering shut while his muscles loosened. Unintentionally, he’d managed to change the timeline to have her survive, although he wasn’t sure what nail had been missing to warrant the switched path.

“Thanks for finding me,” he said through a yawn, breathing deeply. The heater was on, and he hadn’t realized how cold he was until the sudden, welcoming warmth of the vehicle.

Diego squeezed his hand tighter. “We wouldn’t h-have stopped until we did,” he assured, and Klaus blanched, not quite believing the statement. It was one thing to pretend they’d look for him, and another to actually have them searching. “Allison and Vanya to-tore apart the house, while Luther searched the city,” he explained, “and we had a-an entire unit d-dispatched on a manhunt to find you and those assholes.”

People had actually tried to find him, and it was a shock. He’d assumed they wouldn’t notice they’d even notice his absence until he got back, or until Hazel and Cha Cha left an obvious ransom note. He’d expected they’d simply think he was out getting high or having sex again, rather than believing him missing. “It wasn’t necessary,” he mumbled sheepishly, and Diego scoffed.

“You’re our brother,” he said with emphasis. Klaus could feel tears welling in his eyes, and he pressed his face harder into Diego’s shoulder. “I’d go to Hell and back to r-retrieve your scrawny ass,” he said, and Klaus laughed at the irony of the statement.

“I can’t die,” Klaus blurted abruptly, and it truly started to sink in. He’d been shot in the face, and it hadn’t killed him. He couldn’t know what the limit was, but he knew that it certainly was somewhere beyond gunshot wounds, blood loss, and drowning. Heaven didn’t want him, and Hell didn’t either.

“No shit,” Eudora called back from the driver’s seat.

“Probably how you s-su-survived your t-twenties,” Diego said with a scoff, finally seeming to have mostly calmed himself down. Klaus hummed sleepily, listening to the quiet thumps of his heartbeat. “I love you, bro,” he croaked.

“Love you, too,” he mumbled back.

He felt loved, and it felt _amazing_.

Until Ben appeared in the passenger seat next to Eudora, expression so unnaturally terrified that Klaus didn’t initially recognize him. “Klaus!” He shouted, tone fearful With a scream, he lurched away, and Eudora was startled enough that she swerved, running off the side of the road and into a grassy ditch. The seatbelt pressed against his chest painfully, compressing his ribcage while it was pulled taut, and he barely held onto the briefcase.

“Ben?” Someone said, and it took him a moment to realize that it was Diego who said it, not either of them. Eudora and Diego were staring at the passenger seat where he could see Ben was sitting, but he knew it wasn’t possible, because he could barely

“Klaus, you were dead,” Ben babbled hysterically, crawling over the divide and into the backseat like some sort of demon as Diego got close and personal with his car door, pressing himself against it, “I saw you get killed, you died, and I thought that you weren’t coming back—“

“Klaus!” Diego shrieked, eye’s wide. “What the shit?!”

“Diego, isn’t that your dead brother?” The detective asked incredulously.

A hysterical giggle rose up in his throat as he looked between his three companions, Ben starting to realize that it wasn’t just Klaus who could see him physically manifested. Klaus’ hands didn’t have the same vibrant blue glow they had before, although they definitely still shimmered, and Ben’s form only slightly flickered at the edges. He supposed his abilities were stronger since he’d been sober longer. If only they had actually worked when he’d been trapped in the motel room. “Klaus,” Ben said warningly.

“I may have left out something when telling you about my, uh, trip,” Klaus confessed, earning an expression of confusion from Diego, who seemed to be calming down as he leaned forwards.

Reaching out, he pressed his hand against Ben’s shoulder like he was testing his solidity. When his hand touched his jacket, shifting the fabric, his eyes widened, tears welling up in his eyes, and he watched as his throat bobbed with a swallow. Diego leapt at Ben, wrapping his arms firmly around their brother, then tugged Klaus in as well. It was them, huddling together in the vehicle, and he allowed his eyes to flutter shut as breathed a sigh of relief.

Eudora drove them out of the ditch, grumbling about their Hargreeves family chaotic antics and how she didn’t get paid enough for being their chauffeur, although he could see her smiling in the rearview window. Diego chatted eagerly with Ben, who Klaus worked hard to keep manifested, although he faded within the next ten minutes.

“It’s okay, man,” Diego had reassured him, “I never expected to see him again, so. That was good.”

Ben smiled in the front seat, eyes still teary. “That was almost enough to make up for getting yourself kidnapped,” he said, looking at him wistfully. The lines of his face were still tight, jaw clenched, but he was grinning. “I’m still pretty pissed at you.”

Klaus scoffed. “Soon,” he declared, looking at Diego, “you’ll learn what a dickhead he is, now.” Diego started laughing, shoulders shaking while he shook his head, clutching at Klaus’ shoulder. “He’s no sweet Number Six anymore, no sir, he certainly isn’t.”

They arrived at Patch’s house when the clock on the dashboard said it was close to two in the morning, and Klaus allowed his brother and the detective to support him while they hobbled towards the building, although he’d already started regaining his strength. Walking up the porch steps, she wrangled her keys from her pocket and opened the front door before inviting them inside, holding the door ajar.

“This’ll be safe for tonight,” she said, shutting it behind them. Klaus was lowered onto her couch, briefcase still in his lap, and he shivered at the chill in the air. He was still just dressed in his towel, and the room was freezing. Seeming to notice his discomfort, she grabbed a blanket and tossed it over him, starting to head towards the kitchen. “I’ll go make drinks,” she declared, “tea or coffee?”

“Tea, please,” he requested. Diego nodded in agreement.

“Three teas, then,” she said, having left the room completely.

He was left alone with his brother, who settled down on the couch next to him, lowering his body until he was laying in his lap, head resting on his thigh. Closing his eyes, he lost himself in Diego’s gentle fingers combing through his hair, the motion soothing in a way he hadn’t predicted it would be. He’d always craved affection, loved receiving it from his brothers and sisters, and after having been touch starved for years, it was nice to have their relationship restored — he should never have let drugs get in the way of their relationship.

“How long have you been able to see him?” Diego asked tentatively, voice quiet.

“You’ll have to specify,” he said, looking up at his brother.

Diego turned away, face flushing. He was embarrassed, Klaus realized with a grin. “Ben.”

“Since the day he died,” Klaus said with a blasé shrug. Deigo’s eyes widened in shock and pity, jaw dropping, and Klaus smiled wryly. “I wouldn’t have known about the funeral otherwise,” he clarified, “because Reginald didn’t let Information spill to the media about it. I don’t think I would’ve even known that he died until Vanya wrote her book.”

“I thought Reginald invited you,” Diego said, but Klaus shook his head.

“Nope,” he said, popping the ‘p’. Ben had settled over his legs, and if it weren’t for knowing his brother so well, he would’ve thought he was sad about the discussion of his passing. Although Klaus didn’t think they needed to make such a big deal over it, he knew that Ben simply was concerned about him and his wellbeing, so he let the topic continue.

“What a fucking asshole,” Diego murmured bitterly. He’d always resented their adoptive father the most out of all of them, but it felt good to have that anger be on his behalf. “And what about at the funeral?” He asked.

Laughing weakly, he shook his head. “Unlike what our dearest sister believed,” he started, “I was actually sober there.” Diego looked surprised, but he admittedly had been a wreck. He wouldn’t have shown up drugged to such an important event — it felt like he would’ve been betraying his brother’s memory, especially after he’d left home without him in the first place. “It was weird,” he continued, “having him dead in the casket but still alive next to me. I had kind of a breakdown, because he was dead and I was devastated and you know how it is, and then Reggie kicked me out and I just, went and got high again.”

The expression on Diego’s face was grim, sympathetic, and vaguely horrified at having heard his plight. “We should’ve checked up on you more,” he said, but Klaus shook his head.

“It wouldn’t have changed anything,” Klaus assured him. Diego looked unconvinced, so he laced their fingers together and continued, pressing his hand close to his chest. “I didn’t want to get better,” he explained, “and you already visited more than anyone else, so. It wouldn’t have helped. You kept coming to rehab and the hospitals even when I wasn’t making any effort to change, and you let me crash at your place, like, all the time.”

“But that’s what a good brother would do,” Diego protested.

“And so you’re a good brother,” Klaus said with finality. His brother swallowed, obviously choking back tears. “Thanks for everything, Diego,” he said at last, and his brother gave a jerky nod of his head.

“Yeah,” Diego choked out.

They sat in silence together, the room silent except for the quiet sounds of Eudora making their drinks in the kitchen, and Klaus could almost forget that he was tortured, trying to stop the apocalypse, and about to time travel for a second time to fight in the Vietnam War again. He could forget his worries, pretend he was just a normal person cuddling with his brother on the couch.

When Diego pushed himself up, he sat up, not voicing that he didn’t want him to go. His brother pulled him close again, then moved to leave the room. “I’m gonna’ call the others,” he explained, “tell them that you’re safe.

“Alright,” Klaus agreed, “I love you.”

“Love you too,” Diego said.

Eudora came back in soon after, drinks held on a platter. She handed him his tea, setting Diego’s down on the coffee table. The aroma wafted up to him, and he relaxed, breathing it in and enjoying the burn of the ceramic mug on the skin of his palms. “Thanks,” he said, fingering the tea bag’s string and bobbing it in the water.

“No problem,” she said. But he wouldn’t have time to drink it.

Klaus set his tea down next to Diego’s, grabbing the briefcase and setting it up in his lap. He was beyond nervous, but he was also excited, anxious to go back and see Dave. It was really happening,

“Klaus, maybe this is a bad idea,” Ben said hesitantly.

“I’ll be back,” he assured his brother, “I promise.”

“What do you mean?” Eudora asked warily, setting down her own mug. “You’re in no condition to go anywhere.”

“Just tell Diego that I’ll probably come back before lunch tomorrow,” he told her. He set the latch on the briefcase to March 27th, 1968, and looked up at the detective to give a brisk wave of his ‘goodbye’ hand. “I’ll catch you on the flip side, partner,” he said, and had just enough time to see her leap to her feet with a panicked expression of concern before he opened the briefcase and was taken from the room, leaving her alone in the darkness with three steaming mugs of tea, all of them untouched.

With a burst of azure light, Klaus was dropped onto his ass on the cold, unforgiving ground, barely keeping a hold on his ruined towel as he clutched the briefcase as if his life depended on it, which, really, it did. The first thing he saw was Dave sitting up in his cot, squinting in the dim light of the lanterns hanging overhead, and everything from his tousled curls to his bare chest and his legs hidden beneath his blankets was just how he remembered it. Still dressed in only a bath towel, this time without any jacket to speak of, he swallowed down his nerves. “Hello,” he exhaled weakly in greeting, and the love of his life furrowed his brows.

“What?” Dave queried, voice breathy and confused, and then it was gunfire and explosions and Corporal Liszt was barking orders at everyone, and it was like he was in Hell all over again, if not for the fact that Dave couldn’t be anything but an angel.

There was a whistling noise, and he immediately recognized the source as a missile. “Incoming!” Someone shouted, and he fumbled to drop the suitcase, setting it down and sliding it underneath Dave’s bunk.

“Move it, all right, go! Come on,” Sergeant Liszt barked, rushing into the center of the tent. He held a large gun in his arms, already prepared for battle. He basically slept in his fatigues, Klaus had learned. Looking towards him, Sarge’ frowned. “You got mud in your ears, boy?” He asked, and Klaus beamed. There may have been ghosts suffocating him, screams from both the dead and the living accompanied by the sound of warning sirens wailing in camp, but he was there, he was back, and it shouldn’t have made him nearly as happy as it did to be in an active war zone. “War’s not going to wait for you to get pretty. Katz,” he shouted, “get this man operational! Get him a pair of pants! Let’s go!”

Then, a pair of pants were being shoved into his chest by the love of his life as he stumbled to his feet, barely holding up his towel for modesty. A helmet was placed atop his head, and as he was stepping into the loose pants, a vest was draped over his back by someone who he was fairly certain was Isaac Smith, alive and kicking. One of the original members of their squad, killed three weeks later by a landmine that had been buried underneath the mud.

The nineteen soldiers of the 1st Platoon, Battery A, 4th Battalion, 319th Artillery Regiment of the 173rd Airborne Brigade were his family for ten months of his life, and now, being passed a gun, he inhaled shakily, steeling himself to go to battle for them again. It was muscle memory when he disengaged the safety on the weapon and ran outside, taking shelter in the trenches and starting to shoot at the enemy soldiers hidden in the trees. The sortie was just meant to drain them, seeing as their position was well protected and unlikely to be taken by a small group of soldiers, but there still were casualties.

By the time morning came, he was exhausted, running on fumes after two nights of not sleeping. Shepherded onto a bus with his briefcase clutched in his right hand and his gun slung over his left shoulder, they were given the information that they were being sent as reinforcements to the A Sầu Valley, where they would remain until relieved by another regiment in two months so that they could take their leave. Collapsing into his seat in the back, rubbing harshly at his eyes while his remaining makeup was smudged on the side of his hand, he tucked the briefcase underneath his seat, kicking it under.

The bus started up, engines humming to life as they started moving along the long dirt road north, and he knew from his last time in Vietnam that it would be several hours before they arrived at their destination. From his last time in Vietnam, he was also expecting the familiar shifting behind him, followed by a tap on his shoulder. He turned around, stomach twisting into knots, and immediately met the warm, blue-eyed gaze of Dave.

“First time in the country?” He asked, something hopeful in his open expression. Klaus nodded, making a noise of affirmation. Later, Dave had confessed that it was love at first sight, and he thought that Klaus was some sort of guardian angel, sent to get him home safely. He could see it now, the way he swallowed tightly with wide, friendly eyes and reddened cheeks, and it gave him heart palpitations to realize that it was exactly the same in this timeline. “I’m Dave,” he introduced, sticking out his hand.

“Klaus,” he said back breathily, grabbing the proffered limb immediately. Their palms rubbed together, Dave’s flesh warm in his grasp, and he didn’t bother disguising how disgustingly lovestruck he was.

“You’ll adapt,” Dave assured him, and he was sure that he would.

Klaus was home, because Dave was home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y’all like my interpretation of Hell.
> 
> Next time, _smut_.


	11. Salut d’Amour, Op. 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klaus has endured two months of Vietnam during this second trip, and now, his patience has finally paid off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: sexy times, mild mentioning of past homophobia

Klaus’ first two months in Vietnam had been transformative.

He’d gone through over eight weeks in hell on earth, not six days (from his perspective) after living through ten months of it. It was total shit, and the ghosts were worse than anything he’d seen back home, but every moment spent by Dave’s side was worth it. The experience was strange, talking to him and being able to remember the conversation the next day, feeling totally in control of his faculties, but as much as he craved something to block out the maimed souls of the dead, he stayed strong.

It didn’t help that drugs were easy to come by — the government practically handed it out like candy to keep morale higher, while locals peddled it to the military because it was easy money. He’d been offered on numerous occasions, even accepted a baggie of pills on one occasion, but then Dave would say some corny line about _having his six,_ or _you’ve come this far, but I’ll support you even if you relapse,_ and he instantly would feel like utter shit for even thinking about going back on his sobriety. Chronologically, he was at three months, which was a whole month longer than his longest previous attempt, but it felt like so much longer than that. On the bright side, with his new sobriety-granted powers, he was having a much easier time handling it all.

Dave and he — they weren’t even dating, and he still felt as close to him as he had in their past life. They’d clicked immediately, just as before, and it was two men ( _well, one man, Klaus never bothered_ ) pretending their relationship was entirely platonic in the jungles of Vietnam. They bunked next to each other, helped the other through nightmares and flashbacks, and ate their rations side by side during mess. Dave was open, and he tried to be open back — he left out the more outlandish details, but for the most part, he told Dave everything, more than he’d told anyone else. It didn’t mean that it wasn’t painful, having to remind himself that he couldn’t kiss him the way he wanted to, couldn’t hold him close, but it was enough to have him close by and breathing, and alive.

Dave was so alive, he could almost believe watching his blood seeping between his fingers had been a dream — that his warm, gentle heart had never stopped beating, that he’d never stopped breathing. But he could still imagine red frothing at his lips, eyes staring endlessly towards the darkened sky, and he couldn’t get the vivid picture out of his head. Technically, it never happened, but to him, it did, and it terrified him, because he still didn’t know how he would save him when the time came.

But for now, they were lugging their meagre belongings off the bus that had shipped them to Saigon, where their platoon would spend their month of leave before being shipped off to rotate out the regiment currently holding the frontlines. It sucked, fighting a war he knew was ultimately useless, but he also knew that Dave’s stupid morals wouldn’t allow them to leave until he’d completed his second tour of duty. He was like that — wouldn’t surrender, even when he knew he’d likely die during the following year. Dave had been in the country before, served a year and went home briefly before coming back to serve again, and yet he still hadn’t taken the opportunity to leave when Klaus had attempted giving it to him, and he knew that it would be the same the second time around. When Dave had died, they’d been two weeks away from leaving, and Klaus wouldn’t let that happen again.

“Fuck, it’s hot,” Dave croaked, lifting a hand to wipe at his forehead with the back of his hand to dry off his skin. Klaus had his briefcase and duffel, while Dave, the lucky man, had a free hand with his bag slung over his shoulder. Ever the gentleman, Dave pushed the door to the hotel lobby open for him, and he walked inside, patting him on the shoulder and allowing his hand to linger while he passed through the entryway. Standing in the lobby, he watched as the other members of the platoon filed inside. They laughed and joked amongst themselves, obviously relieved to be out of direct line of fire.

“You definitely think that he’s hot,” Fitzgerald said flatly, and he rolled his eyes.

He’d saved most of them — only Fitzgerald had died out of the five men who were supposed to have been killed, and he hadn’t even died in the same way as last time. It was also hard to be too upset when he followed him around everywhere, acting as a surrogate for the two beloved ghosts that he’d left behind in the future. Last time, he’d been so high all the time that he’d barely seen the deceased soldiers from their platoon or regiment, but it was nice, being able to chat with him from beyond the grave.

Smith clapped him on the shoulder. “Let’s thank our lucky charm for getting us this far,” he said, and the other soldiers whooped. Rivera hooked his arm around the back of his neck, bending him down to ruffle his hair, while the others watched, amused. He shoved them off, laughing, and shook his head, short curls bouncing. They’d been cut down to military regulation, and his own set of dog tags were hanging around his neck in the place that he knew Dave’s were supposed to be — it was familiar, but still inherently wrong.

Walters looked uncomfortable, clutching tightly at the cross that hung around his neck. Klaus had taken a bullet for him in week two — one that would’ve otherwise ended up fatally lodged in his ribcage — and had held him as he’d died in his arms. Then Klaus had woken up, nobody had believed him except Thompson, his closest friend, and Walters was hilariously convinced that he was possessed. It was a running gag that Klaus was either the antichrist or the second coming of Jesus — his case wasn’t helped by the fact he joked about being a virgin birth.

Most of them didn’t care anymore how flamboyantly queer he was — with how many times he’d saved their asses from ambushes and miraculously bounced back from otherwise deadly wounds, even the most religious members of their platoon simply shrugged him off. They’d grown accustomed to his mannerisms, the makeup, the way he spoke, and simply allowed him to exist, if only because he was essentially their team mascot. Sergeant Liszt had gotten suspicious, but he was a good shot, and the other members of the platoon had his back.

However, Fitzgerald was still the only one to know about how madly in love he was with Dave, and relentlessly teased him about it. He was good-natured with his ribbing — he had a gay brother at home, he explained — but it didn’t help that the only person he could confide in was a ghost.

Despite knowing how easy it would be to simply kiss Dave, tell him that he loved him, or something, he couldn’t. He was waiting on Dave to make the first move, but the first move wasn’t coming. It was frustrating, being so close but still unable to touch him in the same way that he could, and every time their skin brushed was worse torture than anything Cha Cha and Hazel had put him through. But no matter how much it hurt, he was absurdly grateful for having the love of his life alive and with him again — breathing, talking, laughing.

“It’s because I eat my vegetables,” he said, and the others scrunched their noses in disgust, laughing. Rations and supplies were restocked rarely — they were supposed to be resupplied often, but with how backed up everything was and how difficult it was to transport supplies anywhere, food was hard to come by, and disgusting when they got it. He utilized his hard-earned ability to eat anything from moldy dumpster bagels to food found on the floor of nightclubs in order to eat bugs, disgusting plants, and their C-rations, and out of all of them, he was the only one to put on weight during the last two months. He’d gone from as thin as a slip of paper to one of the more athletic soldiers in the unit, his appetite finally having normalized since he’d quit drugs and alcohol, the latter for the most part. He still had the occasional social drink with the boys, just enough to keep the ghosts hazy while they bonded, or whenever he was on a sensitive mission that required him to distinguish between the living and the dead, although ghosts could be shockingly good lookouts when he asked nicely. “They keep me sharp.”

“Of course, Hargreeves,” Monroe said, rolling his eyes. He was always the one who pawned his cigarettes off to command for better food — he was one of the only men in their unit besides Dave, Klaus, or Walters without a considerable addiction to the cancer sticks, or anything harder. Klaus never liked them — he had sensitive lungs, and they did nothing to block out the spirits. He’d rather smoke weed, or nothing at all. “You are what you eat,” he quipped.

Klaus gasped indignantly, putting his hand over his heart in faux offense. He enjoyed the playful ribbing. “Did you just call me a vegetable?” He asked, trying to sound as offended as possible.

Monroe shrugged. “You said it first,” he observed sagely, “not me.”

“C’mon,” Joe Fuller said, heading towards the front desk, “we need to get our room keys. I’m in desperate need of a nap.”

They passed out the silver metal keys, attached to wooden cards with their room numbers written in neat, elegant handwriting on them, and Klaus was delighted to find that he had a second story room. It would be so much easier to sleep when he wouldn’t have to deal with as many ghosts wandering into his bedroom, despite him being a beacon for them. Fitzgerald was fairly good at chasing them off, but he couldn’t do anything to stop the more persistent spirits. Ghosts tended to like being closer to the ground, for whatever reason. He didn’t know why, but most of them didn’t stray too far upwards, unless they had other motivations.

“Move it, old man,” Matthew Reid ordered while they hiked up the staircase towards their rooms, and he turned around briefly, sticking his tongue out playfully at the younger Private. He jabbed him in the side with his finger, and he jumped, increasing his speed so that he raced to the top of the staircase.

“Hey, I’m only four years older than you,” he pointed out, but it was a large difference. Besides the older folks who volunteered, or were part of the military before, most of the soldiers were younger people in their early twenties who either were drafted or simply wanted to get it over with before they were. For the most part, they all thought he was either someone who accidentally enlisted, or was a prisoner of war from another camp who managed to escape to theirs, although he told so many different stories that none of them could agree on exactly where he originally arrived from. “When _you’re_ turning thirty, you’ll realize that it’s not that old.”

When he arrived in his hotel room, the first thing he did was shower, heading into the cramped bathroom with its kitschy decor and turning the shower up to scalding temperatures before stepping under the faucet. It burned his skin, turned him pink, but once he’d scrubbed himself raw and toweled himself off, he felt more refreshed than he had in the over eight weeks since he’d arrived in the jungle. Laying down on his large, nicely made bed while still naked, hair getting the pillow soaked, he closed his eyes and breathed deeply, relaxing his sore muscles and achy feet.

There was the decision of what to do with the remainder of his evening, but to him, the choice was obvious.

He went to the disco, because he knew it was where Dave would be.

When he was getting dressed, he pretended that it was for nostalgia’s sake that he slipped into his familiar pastel orange shirt and blue striped pants, but there was an insidious voice in the back of his mind that worried if he changed anything, that Dave wouldn’t kiss him. Wouldn’t love him either, even though he’d seen the way he looked at him, felt the gentle way his touches would linger. It was simultaneously irrational, and perfectly rational, because he’d already fucked up the main timeline enough that the Commission was actively trying to eliminate him, although his sibling relationships were significantly better than they had been before, so not all the effects were negative. Dave still liked him, but he was paranoid that with one wrong move, he’d end up with the man hating his guts, or dead again before they could get together, or something else similarly horrible happening. Klaus had received a second chance to be with the love of his life — he wasn’t about to ruin it.

The club was just as he remembered it when he stepped inside, looking around through the heady smoke of cigarettes between all the people dancing, trying to spot the only one of them who mattered. There were ghosts, mangled people stumbling between the partygoers, but he’d grown accustomed to their presence shockingly quickly. He hadn’t quite grown out of his thirty years of fear, but he’d adjusted enough that he could ignore them, calm the quickening of his breath that soon followed.

“Lucky ol’ Hargreeves!” Someone called, and when he turned around, it was Jones, stumbling up to him with a muscular arm thrown around a Vietnamese woman half his size. She was looking Klaus from head to toe hungrily, and while might’ve once been flattered, he just wished that she’d stop. “You seem like the kind of guy to, uh,” he slurred drunkenly, “to know how to party!”

“I did, once upon a time,” Klaus joked, slapping him playfully on the shoulder in a friendly gesture. He reminded him of Luther, although nobody could quite reach that level of sheer enormity. “Now I’m old,” he said, exaggeratedly rubbing his back, “like Reid says, and I can’t keep up like I used to!”

“Not too old for a drink, yeah?” Jones asked, tugging on his arm, and he went along willingly, knowing exactly where they were heading.

“Just a couple,” Klaus conceded. He’d been off drugs for long enough that a drink or two wouldn’t ruin his sobriety — there was so much of Dave that he wanted to commit to memory, and he wouldn’t allow himself to relapse and not be able to be there for him. “I don’t wanna’ get drunk,” he told him.

“Wouldn’t force it down your throat,” Jones assured him.

They arrived at a small, round table, and standing around it was a couple of the boys, plus some attractive women that they were entertaining. Dave was drinking with the group, nursing what Klaus knew was probably either gin or brandy, knowing his tastes. He took his religion seriously, eating kosher and celebrating all the holidays and fasts and giving to the poor, and while he drank occasionally, it was never to the point of getting drunk — he’d only gotten tipsy twice in the time that Klaus had known him, although they’d smoked weed on multiple occasions.

“Hey,” Dave greeted breathily, looking at Klaus with a broad smile and blue eyes that crinkled at the edges. He always looked so happy to see him, and it made butterflies flutter nervously in his stomach. That expression never failed to drive Klaus crazy, make him blush and squirm and want to bury his face into the ground like an ostrich. “Did you get my invitation?” He asked, hopeful.

Klaus didn’t, was almost surprised that Dave had sent one, but it warmed him to know that he cared like that. “Yeah,” he lied, nudging him with his elbow while he crowded in between people at the table, and the way Dave beamed at him made it worth the glare that the woman who had been hanging off his elbow sent him. Knowing just how gay Dave was, he didn’t feel threatened by one woman trying to seduce him. He extended a hand, offering a drink, and he took it quickly, willingly linking his elbow with Dave’s when he offered it.

They each took a sip of their respective alcoholic drinks, then dropped their arms, and Dave was laughing, a blush dusting his cheeks pink. “I’m glad you could make it,” he sighed, looking awkwardly at the ground, and Klaus patted his shoulder.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he assured him.

Despite the fact that he only had two drinks over the rest of the evening, he had a great time, getting just barely buzzed enough to drown out the ghosts and spending the night with his friends. He and Dave danced, gently swaying to the music, and when a woman tried to walk up and steal him away, Dave almost reluctantly went, but he tugged him away, feeling viciously pleased at her indignant expression. Dave was evidently grateful for it.

They ended up in the same alcove, both not even tipsy but pleasantly heady, relaxed and enjoying each other’s company. There wasn’t anyone around, and he felt comfortable knowing that they’d be hard to spot even if someone walked down the hallway they were standing in. “You’ve told a lot of stories,” Dave mused, looking down at him with a soft expression, “but what’s the truth? Who is the _real_ Klaus ‘Lucky’ Hargreeves?”

“Just a man with an asshole father,” Klaus answered, trying for casual but the words coming out somewhat strained. Dave hummed in acknowledgement, lips pulling tight and sympathetic at the corners. He had a bad father, too, one that beat him when he suspected he was gay and kicked him out of the house when he saw him kissing a neighbor boy, damn near killed him, although his mother sounded incredible. “Came over here by accident the first time,” he explained hesitantly, “and I served ten months before something, ah, happened. Second time was by choice, though.”

““I get it, you don’t know what to do when you’re home. That’s why I came back, anyways.” He laughed at himself in a self-deprecating way, embarrassed. “You know that I taught high school history,” Dave said with a chuckle, leaning his head back against the wall, “but what did you do before? Or were you telling the truth when you said that you and your siblings were superheroes back at camp?”

He’d told a lot of stories, most of them falsehoods, and the rest of them were truths so ridiculous that they sounded like they were all lies. It was all to obfuscate the actual truth, of course, but he always tried to give a bit kore of that to Dave than the others. “We were trained like soldiers, sure,” he conceded, “but after I ran away from home, you know I got hooked on the hard shit pretty quickly.” Dave nodded, still smiling sympathetically. “I didn’t really have time for a career or an education when I was bouncing between rehab centers and hospitals.”

“And yet you still speak, like, ten languages,” he said incredulously.

“ _Fertsn,_ ” he corrected in Yiddish, and Dave laughed.

“ _Du bist mshugh,_ ” he croaked playfully in response, thoroughly amused.

They fell into an easy silence, and it was comforting to just have his quiet company. Dave put his palm against his cheek, and he leaned into it, entranced. Bright blue eyes stared down at him like he was the world, but while Private David Katz leaned down, they fluttered shut. Klaus allowed his own eyes to close when their lips met, warm and soft and gentle. He pressed forwards into Dave, absorbing everything he could about the way he felt, the sturdiness of him and the way he radiated warmth. From Klaus’ perspective, it had been two months since they’d last kissed, having been the morning that Dave had died. Now, he had all that time to spend with him again, the chance to make it alright. Whether he’d take Dave back with him or stay by his side in the 60s, he could have Dave forever, if he played his cards right. He’d probably even die of old age before Reginald could have a chance to kick the bucket.

However, Dave was soon peeling back, concern reflected in his irises. “Are you doing alright?” He asked, frowning worriedly, and Klaus realized then that he had started crying. He tried to say yes, bottom lip wobbling, but when he attempted speaking aloud, a sob spilled from his lips instead, chest heaving with the force of it. “ _Shit,_ Klaus, I’m so sorry,” Dave apologizes, tone panicky, “I should’ve asked before I kissed you—“

“No,” he managed to interrupt, and Dave went silent. There he went, messing it all up when he finally had the love of his life back. He couldn’t have been certain that they would’ve fallen in love, and he had been worried that the second time around, Dave would just die again, or that he would fall in love with someone else, but now that he knew Dave had fallen for him again, his emotions had gotten the better of him. “I’m just,” he croaked, “so happy.”

Scanning his face, Dave looked at him like he was trying to gauge whether he was lying. He seemingly found what he was looking for, and a smile split his lips, the same gentle, genuine grin that he always gave Klaus. “I was worried for a second,” he breathed, “that you were outta’ sight.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout that,” he said, voice shaky, “because you’re the only person I can see.” Leaning up on his toes, he brushed his lips over Dave’s again, and the man’s hand slipped from his jaw to the back of his neck, tugging him closer. If the blonde’s breath caught at the confession, he wasn’t brought to mention it. He was still crying, but there were happy laughs erupting from his throat, and as they made out in the little alcove, bodies warm against each others’, he was happier than he had been in months.

“You’re _incredible,_ ” Dave muttered against his lips, and he kissed him harder before peeling back. Before Klaus could move to reconnect their lips, Dave kept him away with a hand against his chest. “What do you say we take this back to one of our rooms before someone can spot us?” He exhaled conspiratorially, looking him up and down like he wanted his mouth on every square inch of him, and he felt lightning race down his spine at the proposition.

Klaus blushed at the thought. “A good, blonde, all-American boy like you, asking another man to swing with him?” He gasped to hide his embarrassment, expression mockingly scandalized, and he put a hand over his heart as if it was pained. “If only the boys back home knew,” he said pitifully, shaking his head, and his beautiful Dave laughed, gentle fingers looping around his right wrist.

Dave tugged him away from the alcove, and after maneuvering through the packed club, they exited out onto the busy street outside. Skin burning where their skin rubbed together, he was steered down the street, pushing past both the living and the dead as they made their way towards the hotel that their squadron was staying at during their leave. The sun was setting, bathing the residents of Saigon in golden light, and as he breathed in the crisp evening air, he believed that maybe he could be happy, here.

They stumbled through the front doors of the hotel, and although it wasn’t exactly odd for two military men to come back together drunk, there was a little voice in the back of his mind that nagged at him to stay out of the center of attention. Dave guided him up the staircase, breathing ragged, and when they arrived at the third floor, he led him through the hall until they came to his room. He fumbled in his pockets for a key, still not releasing his grip on his wrist, until he found the silver piece of shaped metal and pulled it out with shaky fingers. Sticking it in and twisting the lock, he opened the door, leading him inside and shutting it behind them.

The instant it was locked, Dave turned back around to face Klaus, cheeks flushed and sweaty while his unfocused gaze danced across his body. “Can I touch you?” He croaked, asking for permission even with all the hunger of a starving man, and Klaus nodded without a second thought. Apparently, that was all he needed before he was all over him, strong, masculine hands on his waist and arms and ass, and he was touching Dave back, hands framing his sturdy shoulders and cupping his jaw. They both had the bodies of soldiers, nothing soft about them, but the moment still felt tender.

Their mouths pressed together, and Klaus slipped his tongue between Dave’s lips, warm and wet and intimate. Their chests were flush against each other, and when Dave pushed him forwards, he allowed himself to be dropped onto the bed, the backs of his knees colliding with the frame shortly before his back was hitting the bedsheets. Dave slotted himself between his thighs, where he could probably feel Klaus’ hard-on through his striped blue pants, and when he started trailing kisses along the column of his throat, Klaus’ breath hitched. Heady with brandy and an all-encompassing adoration for the man hopefully about to make love to him, he squirmed underneath his touch impatiently, wanting his hands over every inch of his skin.

Traveling downwards, Dave moved until he was on his knees, unzipping his pants and gently peeling them back away from his cock. His fingers dig into his palms while Dave hiked his legs over his shoulders and removed his shoes, the heels of his feet resting on his muscular, unfortunately clothed back, but when Dave’s eyes caught on the nails digging crescents into his skin, he reached up to remove the dog tags from around his neck, reaching upwards with them dangling from his fingers in offering. Taking them with equally shaky hands, he put them around his throat, and it felt right to have them there. A gentle tug on the metal, and everything settled into place. David Katz was flesh and blood in front of him, not just a hallucination, or his ghost, or Klaus’ imagination, and he was about to suck Klaus’ dick with all the finesse of a porn star.

Knotting Dave’s hair between his fingertips, he closed his eyes while nimble hands pulled his cock out of his trousers. Watching while warm lips encompassed the blushing head of his cock, it took everything in him not to blow his load then and there, toes curling and hands clenching his partner’s hair and dog tags tighter. “ _Fuck,_ Dave,” he cursed, and Dave hummed in response, the action vibrating his dick pleasantly. Unable to look away, he watched in fascination as Dave bobbed his head, taking him like he was a professional. Klaus knew objectively that he was above average in the size department, but Dave made it almost look easy to swallow him down to the hilt, nose burying itself in the trimmed thatch of hair at his base.

He pulled back before sinking back down again, moist lips rubbing fluidly along his shaft, and if it weren’t for Dave’s strong, masculine hands pressing him into the mattress, he would’ve thrust upwards into his mouth. Slipping off of him with a vulgar pop, he tongued the underside of his head, grasping the base of his cock between his thumb and forefinger to keep him from moving, before shifting down him with wet, open-mouthed kisses until he reached the base. Giving him two quick, spit-slicked pumps with his hand, he licked a long stripe up his dick that made him need to lean back, a moan escaping his throat while Dave sunk back down his length, tongue lathing him as his cheeks hollowed out, the suction damn near sinful.

A slick finger rubbed against his hole, and he realized that Dave had grabbed the Vaseline and lubed himself up before Klaus had noticed. He looked up at him imploringly through his lashes while continuing to suck him off, digit sliding along the cleft of his ass, and he nodded, heat pooling in his gut. “Please, oh fuck, yes,” he pleaded, and it slid into him easily, body welcoming the intrusion. At the moment, he wanted Dave’s cock more than anything, and in combination with how relaxed he was and how conditioned he was to anal, his want made his body loose and pliant. It crooked, curling inside of him but missing his prostate by a hair, and after seeming to realize how easily it fit inside of him, Dave inserted a second finger alongside the first.

Sliding off of Klaus’ length, suckling on his head while he pulled off, he continued to stroke him with his hand, smiling smugly up at him like he knew he was doing a good job. “You’re so _talented,_ ” Dave murmured, and as he slid a third finger inside of him, he keened, thrusting upwards into his hand. He could feel his stomach twisting itself into knots, heat pooling deep in his stomach while he struggled to breath evenly. “And _handsome,_ ” he continued breathily, “and _strong._ ” It was too much, and he sobbed into his fist, blinking tearily down at Dave. He sank back down over his cock, swallowing hard, and it was too much.

Pushing upwards, he gasped while his fingers tightened around what they gripped, body trembling. The knot uncoiled, heat rushing through his body while he came, and his heels pressed lightly into Dave’s back while his back arched off the bed. “Fuck me,” he pleaded numbly with a gasp, “ _please,_ I need you to touch me, just—“

Dave didn’t question his sheer desperation, pulling off and kissing his sensitive, softening length gently. He leaned upwards as his fingers were removed from his ass, pressing a kiss against Klaus’ brow before looking him in his eyes. “Do you still want this?” Dave asked for confirmation, and the treatment was so familiarly tender that he started crying, smiling so widely that his cheeks hurt.

“Yes,” he answered, pressing their foreheads together, and Dave laughed breathily, smushing their lips together so hard their teeth clicked together. He was certain that both Dave and himself were clean, and STIs weren’t even on Dave’s radar yet, although he logically knew that he should’ve been suggesting protection. He fumbled at Dave’s zipper, elated by the hardness he felt underneath the thin fabric. Dave kicked his pants and underwear off easily, tossing the clothes onto a nearby chair, and Klaus palmed at his hardened length, stroking it as it pressed upwards into his hand. The motion made Dave breath heavily, pressing his forehead into Klaus’ collarbone, and he knew that he wanted it just as much as he did. “I’ve waited months for this,” he confessed, and Dave nodded.

“Hope I don’t disappoint,” he said, but Klaus knew he couldn’t, ever. Lining him up with Dave’s assistance, Klaus allowed him to press inside, and although it wasn’t sexually stimulating just yet, the feeling was familiar and welcoming, not nearly as uncomfortable as it was with some people who tried fucking him. It had taken awhile to become accustomed to not waiting for pain or discomfort, to be able to believe that Dave wouldn’t ever hurt him, but it was easy to fall back into their level of comfort with each other — not to mention that Dave had stretched him out more than he probably needed to, and he was still loose and malleable from his orgasm.

He bottomed out, but needed a moment to adjust, simply staying inside of him while his warm length filled him entirely. The first tentative thrusts were slow, Dave simply grinding his hips upwards and into his body, but he quickly gained speed and strength, thrusts quick paced and powerful, but not painful. He mouthed at his neck, careful not to leave any marks for the boys to see in the morning, and while his left hand cradled his jaw, his right rubbed gently at his nipple, rolling the flesh between his forefinger and thumb. The stimulation started as almost too much for his hypersensitive body, and soon he was aroused again, releasing breathy gasps while his softened length began hardening a second time, leaking against his stomach.

“You’re perfect,” Klaus choked out, trying to convey just how much desperation he felt in a single phrase, but Dave just nodded into him with a laugh. Klaus didn’t think he quite understood. He was perfect in every sense of the world, worthy of ballads and love songs, and he wished that he was better at music so he could put his feelings into something tangible. He’d painted Dave, back in his own time, but it hadn’t been right, hadn’t encapsulated the perfection that was Dave. “Fuck, you’re _perfect,_ he choked out, cock bouncing against his stomach while he was thrust into, “Dave, Dave, _Dave_ —“

Angle changing, Dave’s cock was suddenly rubbing against his prostate, and his hips were twitching while he released strangled moans into the quiet of the hotel room, the only other sounds being the wet noises coming from their own bodies and the birds and insects chirping outside. He finished too soon, coming untouched onto his own stomach, white coating his abs, and Dave followed soon afterwards, grinding up into him and breathing out a staccato pattern against his collarbone. Klaus grabbed his chin, pulling his head up so that he could look into his glassy eyes, and Dave leaned forwards to kiss him again, slow and lazy and sweet. It was tender and romantic, _everything_ he had been missing from his absence, and when they separated, he never wanted it to end.

“What if I told you,” Klaus murmured numbly as Dave pulled out of him with an obscene squelch, the absence of his thick, softened length leaving him feeling empty, “that we had met before?”

“Like, as in back home, in the States?” Dave croaked, wrapping an arm firmly around his waist. He pulled him close so that they were spooning, Klaus’ back to his muscular chest, and he felt safer than he had in his entire life. Closing his eyes, he slotted his leg between Dave’s, their ankles hooking together. He was still leaking, but his legs also felt like jelly, and he didn’t want to make the effort of standing up to clean himself out when he had a warm, comfortable body pressed against his back. “Or are you talking about _reincarnation,_ and past lives? That kind of shit.” After a pause, he laughed, pressing a kiss against his spine. Klaus grabbed his hand, lacing their fingers together. “Should we be having this conversation right after having sex?”

“Uh, yeah,” he scoffed, twisting in Dave’s grasp. Shifting so that their faces were inches apart, he looked into _brilliant_ blue eyes that were clearly struggling to stay open, touching his cheek gently. “But really,” he said, “the second option. What if I told you that I met you before in, like, a different timeline, but you don’t remember me? Would you still have kissed me at the disco?”

Dave mulled over the question seriously, gnawing on his bottom lip, before he smiled sheepishly down at him. “Did you still, ah, choose me the last time?” He asked, and Klaus nodded desperately. Shrugging, Dave placed his hand over his waist, skimming his hand over his hip. “Then I’d just be the luckiest man alive, getting to have you love me twice.” The word ‘love’ hadn’t been brought into the conversation before, and while Dave blushed, seemingly recognizing his blunder and beginning to backtrack, he dug himself deeper into the hole he’d started digging for himself. “I mean,” he said, “I know that I _love_ you, _definitely,_ even though it’s only been two months, but if you don’t return—“

Klaus halted his fumbling for an explanation with a sloppy kiss, grabbing his jaw and smashing their faces together so that their teeth clicked painfully. “I love you too, Dave,” he murmured through the kiss, and if they weren’t so damn exhausted, they might’ve been up for a round two. As it was, Dave pulled him close, returning his fervor until Klaus separated them. “But I’m serious,” he slurred, “that briefcase I always lug around is a time machine, and we’ve gone through this all before. I spent a whole ten months with you that you can’t even remember, so if that’s weird for you, well...”

“I believe you,” Dave assured him, gaze warm and accepting, pupils blown wide, and although there was a set of three words that Klaus liked better, Dave had already said those, too. Klaus’ heart twisted, and he felt like crying, because there was nobody on the face of the Earth that could hold a candle to Dave. “Did I, ah,” he continued, “ _die?_ Or did I just fuck things up?”

“You died,” he confirmed, and Dave nodded, smiling sadly, but he somehow still managing to be a little relieved. Klaus grasped the dog tags where they still rested on his chest, and he decided he was feeling brave enough to continue. “I also see dead people,” he explained, “can lift things with my mind, and can’t seem to die myself, although I’m sure hat you’ve figured at least couple of those things out already.”

“Thompson is genuinely considering whether to hold an exorcism for you at this point,” Dave said, an amused grin tugging at his lips. His fond gaze made Klaus want to bury his face in his pillow. “If you can see dead people,” he started, looking slowly around the room somewhat warily, “is there anybody here right now? Because, ah, if your brother is in the room with us...”

“I’m still too drunk to see any,” he confessed, relieved that Dave wasn’t just humoring him. Any remaining weight had been lifted off his chest, and he was left feeling relaxed and content. Outside the window, the last dregs of sunlight were seeping away in a vibrant sunset of oranges and reds, a curtain of dark blue creeping towards the horizon. “And anyways,” he continued, “Ben wouldn’t have stuck around for that, and I left him back in twenty-nineteen, too.”

Dave’s eyes bugged out. “Twenty-nineteen?” He exclaimed in shock, openly gaping. The expression was adorable, childlike awe painted across his features, and it made Klaus giggle. “That’s in _fifty years!_ What was that like?”

“Gay marriage is legal, firstly,” he said on impulse, and Dave swallowed, throat bobbing exaggeratedly. He slipped his hand down to rub his thumb along Dave’s collarbone, tracing circles in the naked skin there. “There aren’t any flying cars,” he continued, “but television is in color, humans have lived on the moon, and we could kiss in public if we wanted to.”

That caught Dave off guard, and he swallowed tightly again, running a hand over his hipbone. “Almost sounds too good to be true,” Dave sighed wistfully with a hoarse voice, pulling him close again to his body. Kicking up the comforter and bundling both of them up in their bedsheets, he felt secure in his lover’s arms. “We could see it together, someday,” he said through a yawn, and Klaus nodded into his chest, trying not to choke up. Then, he was struggling to stand up, and when Klaus grabbed onto his wrist, he gently disentangled himself. “I gotta’ clean you off and take a piss, doll,” he explained, “before we go to bed.” Klaus let him go, albeit reluctantly, and was rewarded for his patience with a playful slap to the ass. Klaus laughed, batting at his hand half-heartedly while Dave beamed at him and headed towards the bathroom.

After a minute, he came back from the bathroom of his hotel bedroom with a wet washcloth, wiping Klaus’ skin of sweat before cleaning the cum from his ass. He’d never known how great aftercare could be until Dave came along, but after almost a year of fucking nobody but him, he’d gotten used to the idea that maybe he didn’t just deserve rough, painful sex and quickies that were exclusively in exchange for other services. Dave slipped into bed with him afterwards, still naked, and held him close, arms wrapped around his waist with his face pressed into the top of his head. Klaus pecked him on the cheek, then fell asleep to tender fingers combing through his curls, and hoped more than he had ever hoped in his life that they’d live to stay together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First time posting smut, so I hope y’all enjoyed. This was literally the second chapter I started writing, and although it took me four months to finally complete it to my satisfaction, I’m shockingly okay with the way it’s turned out. Smut seemed like the kind of thing that I would be nervous to write, but amazingly enough there are a couple other chapters in this that I felt more embarrassed over! Hope I conveyed just how in love Dave was with Klaus during that disco scene in the show.
> 
> Also, you can pull sexually experienced gay man, orthodox Jewish, high school history teacher David Katz from my cold, dead fingertips.
> 
> Next time, Klaus finally discovers why Dave had to die, and Dave is reminded for the hundredth time that his boyfriend (his _boyfriend!_ he can hardly believe it) is the coolest person he’s ever met.


	12. Kinderszenen, Op.15: Kind im Einschlummern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something goes Klaus’ way for once, Dave is stupidly in love with a disaster of a human being, and Fitzgerald just wishes he could still have a drink.

It was the same date that Dave had died on the first time around, around midday, although he had nothing but the sun to tell the time by. He had a matter of hours before it was the real showtime, and he wasn’t ready.

Nothing had scared him more, not the torture or the mausoleum or the ghosts, and it was difficult to comprehend the sheer panic he felt at the thought of Dave dying again. He’d wander Vietnam forever just searching for him, cancel his plans to stop the apocalypse, die of old age in a foreign country just for the chance to see him again. Fuck, he’d even steal another briefcase, die and challenge God to a fistfight, or allow the apocalypse to occur again simply to have Five send him back and hopefully end up in a similarly fortunate situation. The lengths he knew he’d go to in order to keep Dave alive were ridiculous, even to himself.

The worst part of the situation was that he wasn’t even sure what killed him in the first place. He knew it was a gunshot wound to the back, sure, and he knew the exact time and place and situation because he’d the information had been carved into his mind, but beyond that, he hadn’t a clue. The most crucial information to have was who killed him, but he didn’t even have that.

On the bright side, the ghosts were no longer an issue.

He’d adapted, trying to work with them instead of fighting against them, and as a result, he’d become able to tolerate them, and they respected his space. On the battlefield, they told him where bombs were placed, kept a watchful eye over the soldiers in his battalion, and allowed him to know about ambushes and skirmishes before they occurred. Lives were saved, and somehow, it was still only Fitzgerald who was dead — something that Fitzgerald himself acted incredibly irritated with, although he was secretly as relieved as Klaus was that everyone was still alive.

“C’mon, why not Callander?” Fitzgerald queried, dangling from the rafters of the facility they were sleeping in by his knees, relaxed considering his precarious position.

“He’s too stupid to die,” Klaus drawled, and several of the others looked at him strangely. They had never been informed of his various abilities, although they had their suspicions, but they had nonetheless grown used to his antics and habit of talking to ‘himself.’ It was pleasing, to have both respect and fear directed towards him.

“Hope you’re not talking about me,” Smith chirped from where he was playing a round of poker with Carter, and Klaus gave him a wink, sticking his tongue out playfully. He rolled his eyes, turning back towards his hand. “Your potential at gambling is wasted, Hargreeves,” he groused.

Oh, wasn’t it convenient to have ghosts that could look over other people’s shoulders at their decks? Fitzgerald said he helped him just because he was bored, but Klaus knew it was because he had a mean competitive streak but couldn’t very well play when he was dead. “You’re just jealous that I’m a lucky bastard,” he said with a laugh.

“Or a psychic one,” Thompson piped up from where he sat, reading some novel with no title visible on the cover. Probably some philosophy book, or collection of essays, knowing him. He didn’t even look up while he gave his opinion, flipping his page slowly. “Someday,” he solemnly promised, “you’ll slip up and give us your secrets.”

What they didn’t know was that Klaus was hopefully going to be leaving very, very soon — taking his briefcase and leaving with Dave as soon as they had the chance. It would all be so much simpler if Dave was happy to desert, but he was certain that if they were going to survive anyways, they might as well have stayed to do as much good as they could. Dave had told him before that they could leave if Klaus wanted to, but he knew that Dave, despite his aversion towards the war, would never forgive himself for willingly abandoning those who relied on them. So he didn’t bother asking.

“I’m gonna’ get some fresh air,” he announced to whoever was listening, and Jones hummed next to him, eyes closed. Dave had left to go help move supply crates out of a shipment vehicle, so he had no real reason to stick around in the tent, waiting for something to happen.

He wandered around camp for a bit, helping a boy who couldn’t have been older than eighteen learn how to properly cook and season his rations before moving on to taking a piss on the outskirts of their base. He stood on the edge of the jungle, breathing in the fresh air with his pants still partially unbuttoned, wishing that he had a convenient way to drown out the screaming in the woods that wasn’t drugs. He still craved them sometimes, but it had gotten so much easier since he’d started — physically eleven months sober, mentally ten. He felt physically healthier than he had since he was a child, and his mental state was shockingly good considering that he was serving his twentieth month of service in the Vietnam War.

Later in the afternoon, he’d wandered into the supply tent, hoping to find Dave but instead finding what looked like a fresh-faced recruit staring down at a paper in his hands. He was dressed strangely, military outfit almost too pristine for the middle of the jungle when the last soldiers had arrived a whole two weeks before, but it wasn’t initially concerning.

“Hey,” he said in greeting, walking up. The boy startled, shoving his paper hurriedly into his pocket, but Klaus figured it was a love letter from a sweetheart back home, or a notice from their command, or something similarly innocuous that he didn’t want anybody seeing. “First time in the country?” He asked, smiling.

“Uh, yeah,” he stuttered sheepishly, looking down at the ground.

“That’s alright,” Klaus assured, slapping him on the back, “you’ll—“

Dave had called it psychometry once, when they’d been shoved into a tiny tent side by side and he’d confessed that sometimes touching weapons or corpses would make him sick, seeing and feeling things that hadn’t happened to him and that he hadn’t been around to see. He sheepishly explained that he’d read it in a newspaper once, in an advertisement for some psychic scam that he’d immediately written off as baloney, and Klaus had called him a nerd before asking if he knew what the word even meant. They’d promptly forgotten the discussion had even happened. It had made some sense at the time, but now, he couldn’t deny what he was feeling simply by touching the man.

There were briefcases, guns, the same queasy sickness he felt whenever he tried traveling through time. Bloody murder and a blonde woman with a smile like a shark, the thrill of the chase and anger, seething, brutal anger that wasn’t his, although he felt his own anger, and before he knew it he was shoving the soldier down into the dirt, glad that there was nobody in the tent but them.

“Why the fuck are you here?” Klaus asked, rearing back his fist in a threat, and the man put his hands up, caught off guard. He clearly wasn’t expecting Klaus to immediately catch onto his plan, and he didn’t even have a good explanation for how he knew it besides his freaky new psychic powers that, now matter how quickly he practiced them, kept cropping up like weeds faster than he could explore them, rip them from the ground and study their roots. He was starting to see what his father meant by ‘untapped potential,’ and he didn’t like it.

The man waved his hands frantically in front of him, trying to placate Klaus. He couldn’t have had any clue who he was, and suddenly he was assaulting him, although Klaus would use his surprise to his advantage. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he spluttered, and Klaus cracked him across the jaw.

He’d gotten used to physical fights before — he had to, spending twenty months in Vietnam. Since coming back, he’d developed a nasty right hook, and the sound of his fist connecting with his jaw was satisfying. The agent blubbered, holding up his palms as if he was trying to defend himself, and it took all of Klaus’ willpower to not strike him again. “David Katz,” he gritted out, and the agent’s eyes widened in recognition.

“I don’t know that name, I swear,” he lied through his teeth, somewhat hysteric, and Klaus shook him roughly, pinning him into the ground with his full body weight. He struggled, but Klaus had bulked up since he’d come to Vietnam, and the man was unable to escape from his hold. “Please, I don’t know,” he insisted, and Klaus lifted him up to slam his head into the floor.

“The Commission sent you,” Klaus said, and the man swallowed. Really, they should have sent better agents to handle the issue, because this man was no problem compared to Hazel and Cha Cha’s level of idiotic competency. “You were sent to kill David Katz,” he spat, “and I’m here to inform you that you’re unable to complete your mission. _Sorry._ ”

A conflicted expression flickered over the agent’s face, and he looked so young that if he hadn’t been for him being the one who killed Dave in the original timeline, Klaus would’ve felt guilty. He was probably a new hire, felt like crisp paper and work training, and when he broke, his lips warped into a grimace. “I did, I was, I m-mean,” he stuttered, “I was going to kill him, but please, let me go, I won’t- I can’t do this, please, let me-“

Klaus dropped him, and stood off, grabbing his briefcase off the table and shoving it into his chest. “Take it and leave,” he ordered, “and don’t come back here, ever.”

He stumbled to his feet, running out of the room like flames were licking at his boots, and Klaus released a sigh of relief. Dave’s assassination was no longer an issue, thanks to him conveniently stumbling upon the agent assigned to his case. It was a true miracle.

“I think I did it,” Klaus told Dave later, when he’d come back from his volunteer work. He’d cocked his head, smiled encouragingly, and waited patiently for him to explain. “I found the man who was going to kill you,” he clarified, and Dave frowned somewhat, grabbing his hand.

“Wait,” Dave said, “I hope you didn’t kill him.”

“Knew you wouldn’t like that,” he explained, leaving out just how young he’d been. Maybe if he had been older, more grizzled, Klaus would’ve made more effort to make Dave’s survival certain, but he had been too young to die. It reminded him of Five, alone and working as an assassin, because even though he knew Five was older when he’d first started working for them, he didn’t quite remember what an aged Five had looked like. Whenever he pictured him as an assassin, it was always his scrawny teenaged body, and killing the agent would’ve felt somewhat like killing his brother.

“Thanks,” Dave said, lacing their fingers together while his shoulders relaxed.

Somehow, during the firefight that ensued later that night, getting rid of the Commission agent who had been assigned to kill Dave hadn’t made him relax anymore. If anything he was even more twitchy, looking into the shadowy parts of the forest whenever he could spare a glance, nervously looking between his fellow soldiers. He saved Monroe from getting his head blown off by forcing his face into the ground, and while the man had initially spluttered in indignation, he quickly realized that it was just Klaus saving his ass again.

“Goddamn, you lucky bastard,” Monroe stuttered in a shaky voice, reloading the weapon in his hands and refocusing on the battle, and Klaus let out a burst of hysteric laughter in spite of his nerves. Another death averted —

Everything seemed to be going swell, better even now that he’d managed to save everyone but Fitzgerald, who was playing lookout for him again. He shot a man in the hip who was trying to rush them, winced as he hit the dirt, but he knew that there was a decent chance he’d make it out alive. He tried not to deliver fatal shots whenever he could, as it meant for less ghosts to follow him around. His platoon knew damn well that he was a good shot when he actually wanted to be one.

A landmine went off near them, and he looked over, afraid that he’d see one of his platoon members having been blown to pieces, but Fitzgerald was quick to assure him otherwise. “Got blasted by gunfire or sumthin’ like that,” he explained, “nobody injured.”

“Thanks,” he said. The others were used to him talking to himself, and nobody gave him a second glance.

Dave was next to him the entirety of the battle, constantly checking on him to make sure Klaus knew he was alive as much as he did it to check on Klaus himself, although he knew as well as Klaus did that he was functionally immortal. The question, of course, was how he’d even died during the apocalypse in the first place, although his working theory was that he was high during the first apocalypse and hadn’t been able to regenerate or be resurrected, or whatever else his body did. Five would probably know more about how he did it than he did himself.

There was something audibly rustling in the bushes behind them, but he’d been in the jungle long enough to know that whenever he heard something, he was probably just paranoid. He figured that it was likely an animal or the wind, or else someone from his battalion trying to move down the lines to a different area without being spotted by the enemy. But when he heard a click like a gun being assembled, a noise that he wouldn’t have heard if he wasn’t jumpy and alert already, he turned around, heart leaping into his throat.

He was lucky that he did. He forgot that Commission agents usually had partners assigned to them.

Leaping onto Dave, his boyfriend released a squawk of indignation, but the burst of pain that lanced through his shoulder quickly proved his instincts correct. Dave shouted, startled, and when Klaus looked down, pain from the injury quickly fading due to the adrenaline coursing through him, he saw blood spreading across his shoulder. The bullet had gone through his shoulder and struck Dave’s, but it wasn’t a fatal wound, and he breathed a shaky sigh of relief that he wouldn’t have to mourn him all over again.

Whipping around, Jones, who saw what happened, shot the Commission agent that had tried assassinating him, and they dropped dead to the jungle before Klaus could make out any of their features. Relief washed over him, because they were dead. The Commission agent was dead, and Dave was safe.

Laying back on the ground, ignoring the ache in his shoulder that was growing increasingly pronounced, he checked over Dave. He was startled and surprised, trembling like a leaf while he put pressure on his bleeding shoulder, but he was alive. He was still alive, and Klaus had done it for now. “Medic,” he screamed, a tremor in his voice, and while it took another couple of minutes, they were extracted soon after by a shaken Peavey.

“Damnit, Hargreeves,” he cursed while he compressed the injury, “how’d you manage this?” Tightening a bandage around the wound, he worked quickly to extract the bullet from Dave’s shoulder helping him cover the injury to stop the bleeding. “Hold on until the fight’s over,” he said, moving to exit the medical tent, “you’ll be fine.”

Then he was gone, and Klaus and Dave had been moved to their own mats on the floor, and he couldn’t help the giddy laugh that escaped his throat. “Was that when I was supposed to die?” Dave asked hesitantly, clammy hand finding his. Klaus squeezed it, pulling the limb close to his chest. “Originally, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Klaus answered, voice shaky.

“But you saved me,” Dave said, “and we’re okay. We’re both alive.”

“Yeah,” he repeated dumbly, unable to really comprehend it. It was one thing to think it or say it — he and Dave were both alive, Dave had survived the battle, he was still living and breathing — but it was another to have it actually be reality, to not have it be just a hopeless fantasy. He squeezed Dave’s hand again, feeling him warm and alive, and he was covered in blood again but this time, Dave was alive. Dave was alive.

“Christ on a _cracker_ ,” Dave said, an accidental imitation of what Klaus had once said before his world had fallen apart, before he’d died the first time, “that was a close one, huh, Klaus?”

He couldn’t help the way he burst into tears — it might not have been the manliest thing, but screw gender norms and the binary, Klaus could cry if he damn well wanted to. He sobbed helplessly, clutching at Dave while they bled on the hard mats of the medical tent, and Dave gently comforted him, shushing him with all the patience of a saint. He snuck kisses when he was sure nobody was looking, murmured sweet nothings into his ear, and the tears that Klaus spilled were out of happiness as much as they were sadness.

“We’re alive,” Klaus sobbed, “we’re alive, Dave.”

“We are, Klaus,” Dave assured him.

He cried harder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus ends Vietnam, with Dave perfectly intact besides a bullet in the shoulder and Klaus considerably less stressed. But aha! They still have the apocalypse to solve. I have the second to last chapter written already, strangely enough, so it’ll just be a matter of getting there.
> 
> What I find hilarious is that this story is literally almost the length of a _Harry Potter_ book, and it’s just a smutty, self-indulgent Umbrella Academy fan-fiction. I find it incredible when people make 150,000+ word monsters, because that’s nearing _Lord of the Rings_ levels of length.
> 
> A benefit of my erratic update schedule is while the last update took almost two weeks, sometimes you get two in the span of a couple days. I’ve had a lot of momentum recently, so expect another over the weekend!
> 
> Next time, Diego gets a surprise.


	13. Nocturnes, Op 9: No. 2 in E-Flat Major. Andante

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klaus and Dave have a lot of explaining to do, while Eudora is just relieved she didn’t lose her boyfriend’s brother.

The honorable discharge they’d received had been well-earned, and after the battle, when they’d been presented their Purple Hearts by Sergeant Liszt and their Corporal, it almost felt too good to be true. They’d packed up their things, although he needed Dave’s help to move his briefcase with the bones and ligaments that had been decimated in his shoulder, and been shoved onto a plane that was heading back to the US. The boys from their platoon had insisted on seeing them off, signed their own little messages near their favorite sketches of themselves in Klaus’ notebook while he was sleeping, and the gesture was so sweet that he’d nearly cried reading them.

Fitzgerald had boarded with them, and he’d made him corporeal just long enough to give them a proper send-off, much to the platoon’s enjoyment. Sergeant Liszt looked like he could’ve _shit_ himself, and Klaus was laughing until they sat down and strapped themselves into the military plane, careful with their shoulders and side by side while Fitzgerald settled for sitting cross-legged on the ground. He’d packed briefcase where the rest of their luggage was stored — they’d agreed to wait until they were back in the States to leave, so that there wasn’t a chance they’d be recorded as deserters. Klaus wanted to claim their military benefits, after all, and that wouldn’t be possible if they had that in their records.

“You’re gonna’ _love_ the future,” Klaus promised them, “trust me!”

“I’m excited to meet your family,” Dave said, giving him as platonic a pat on the shoulder as he could. Their platoon had adjusted to their relationship, sure, but they were around unfamiliar people and soldiers, and homophobia was rampant. It hurt to not be able to kiss him, although he reassured himself that when they got home, it wouldn’t matter anymore.

“You shouldn’t be,” Klaus joked, never mind that he was excited for him to meet them as well.

They’d used the briefcase the instant that Klaus had been discharged from the hospital he’d been transferred to in the States, having had them reconstruct his shoulder joint and debride the wound — it must’ve been strange for the doctors and nurses to see them disappear from his hospital room, but he couldn’t care less about freaking out the locals. Dave had gotten lucky, only having a bullet to remove, but once upon a time he would have traded all of his limbs just to have Dave alive again, and having a fucked up shoulder for the rest of his life was nothing in comparison to having him back. Holding Dave’s hand, Fitzgerald grabbing onto his shoulder, he set the latch for the correct time period, and with a flash of blue light, they were gone.

They collapsed onto Eudora’s couch, Dave’s body cushioning the landing, and he laughed, burying his face into the crook of Dave’s neck. A pair of strong arms wrapped around his waist, while Dave chuckled with him, pulling him closer. The briefcase was forgotten, falling on the floor with a thump, and all Klaus could focus on was the fact that they were alive. They were back in 2019, the future was still intact, and Dave was alive.

Christ on a cracker, _Dave was alive_. The knowledge made him giddy, made him so happy that he wanted to scream his victory to the world. Dave was alive, and he’d made it so — he’d won against fate, and outwitted destiny, God, and the Commission itself in order to do so. His head pounded, aching like only time travel could make it, and his body was sore while his surgery site still was hurting like a bitch. But Dave was _alive,_ and as long as he could stop the apocalypse, it would remain that way.

Dave was alive. Dave was _alive,_ breathing and laughing underneath him, smiling at him like he was his sun and stars.

“Klaus,” someone croaked, and he looked upwards to find Diego standing in the livingroom, bags under his eyes and sleep clothes ruffled. Eudora was still sleepily curled up in an armchair, rubbing at her eyes tiredly, and by the empty spot next to her and the blanket that had fallen on the floor, she and Diego had slept curled up next to each other.

“Hey, Diego,” Klaus breathed, sliding off of Dave and stumbling to his feet, unable to do anything but smile. He embraced his brother, who squeezed him tightly in return, like he never wanted to release him again. He wondered if it was relief over Klaus’ return or his obvious exhaustion that made him not immediately try to knife Dave in the throat. “I told you guys that I’d be back before lunch.”

And indeed, the sun looked like it had barely risen, light just shining through the curtains. Eudora shuffled to her feet, throwing the arms around the two of them and pressing her nose into Klaus’ curly hair, and he the action made him warm with the hope that they could be friends in the future. Ben suddenly shifted into the room, expression one of relief, and he pulled back to greet him properly. It took barely a thought to make him corporeal, and by the expressions on the rest of their faces, Ben seemed to realize that they could see him, smiling sheepishly. “Is this Dave?” He asked, gesturing towards his boyfriend (he’d never get tired of using the word), and Klaus nodded vigorously, stepping backwards and grabbing Dave’s warm, living hand.

“Yeah, this is David Katz,” he introduced while Dave gave a small wave, “my boyfriend.” Dave tensed, but he’d made it clear before that nobody he knew would mind them being in a relationship, let alone him being gay.

“And I’m James Fitzgerald,” the soldier piped up, although Klaus hadn’t made him corporeal and he knew it. He wouldn’t add _him_ to the already long list of things Diego had to process, although Ben spared him a glance.

“What?” Diego asked, too tired, concerned, and relieved to fully comprehend what he was saying. He still glared daggers at Dave, mouth set in a worried frown, and Eudora wrapped her fingers gently around his wrist in a comforting gesture, looking at him worriedly. “Go over what happened last night,” he demanded, “from start to finish.”

That would be difficult to explain. “You should sit down,” he suggested, and an expression of dread washed over Diego’s face, like he knew it would be a long, convoluted explanation. “It’s been a lot longer than a night for me.”

They settled down, Klaus’ feet in Dave’s lap while he gently massaged his shins. Diego and Eudora sat next to each other at the other end of the couch, Ben sitting in the armchair, and he was delightfully pleased when a cat hopped onto the arm of the couch and settled there. He explained grabbing the briefcase that belonged to Hazel and Cha Cha, then traveling back in time, skirting around why he decided to do so in the first place. He described fighting in Vietnam for ten months — something he’d never _fully_ told Diego about, even in the other timeline — and falling in love with Dave, a half-lie, because he’d been in love with him even before the current incarnations of them even met.

“So, wait,” Diego said, “why did you even go back in time in the first place?”

“You should tell him,” Ben suggested, and he shook his head, making him disappear again. Eudora stared blankly at the spot where Ben had been, and his brother rolled his eyes, tilting his head back against the back of the armchair. “Coward,” he insulted him, but Klaus couldn’t care less.

“Just a whim,” he said weakly to try and excuse his behavior, but Diego shook his head. It was a bad sign — he didn’t have any other decent explanations besides that and the truth.

“You may be a spaz, Klaus,” Diego said, shaking his head, “but you’re not an idiot, and nobody in their right mind would go to a war-zone on a, a fucking whim.” Standing, he paced back and forth across the livingroom, and Klaus tried not to panic and bolt. It wouldn’t help anything, and part of him was morbidly curious as to whether Diego would come to the correct conclusion. He didn’t want anyone to find out about his jaunt through time — but he’d been carrying the weight of the future almost solely on his own shoulders, and he desperately wanted to tell everyone, although he simply couldn’t. “Was he the reason you went back in time?” Diego queried, pointing towards Dave.

Klaus nodded, swallowing tightly. “Yes.”

“Alright,” Diego continued, “so how did you know about him?”

“You haven’t told your family about before?” Dave asked, confused, and he cursed under his breath. He should’ve told him that it was a secret, and that only Ben knew about what really transpired before he’d come back to the past.

“What’s _before?_ ” Diego asked, brow furrowing suspiciously.

It was time to come clean, he supposed. “Don’t tell anyone what I’m about to tell you,” he ordered, “because even if they believe I’m telling the truth, it could mess things up even worse.” His heart was nearly beating out of his chest, the palpitations erratic and painful, and he held Dave’s dog tags to calm himself down. “I’ve been managing this on my own for a long, long time, so take it as a sign of trust that I’m willing to tell you this.”

“Klaus—“ Diego protested, but he shook his head.

“You need to _promise_ me that you’ll keep it secret,” he insisted, turning towards Eudora, “and you as well, because the fate of the world rests on you staying quiet about what I’m going to tell you.”

Diego looked like he was about to protest again, but Eudora shook her head, silencing him. “I promise that I won’t tell anyone,” she said, and he wished that he’d appreciated the detective more before. Grabbing Diego’s hand and squeezing it, she shared a look with him, unspoken words passing between them, before Diego’s mouth hardened into a straight line and he shook his head in exasperation.

“You better not make me regret this,” Diego said at last, and Klaus breathed a sigh of relief in response.

“Thanks, seriously,” he said, allowing himself to relax. Swallowing nervously, he focused on the feeling of Dave’s skin against his, the way his warmth radiated off of him, and the way it felt to be held by him again made him calm. “I suggest you sit back down for this, too,” he said, and Diego did as he instructed, expression increasingly concerned. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he made the confession he had been itching to make to him for months. “I traveled back in time,” he said, voice wavering, and Diego laughed.

He frowned indignantly, offended — it hurt to have his brother, who had been so supportive up until that point, be so dismissive. But his concerns were soon alleviated when he spoke. “Klaus, you already told me that,” Diego pointed out, and he realized that _of course_ Diego was thinking that Klaus was referencing his jaunt in Vietnam.

“No,” Klaus said, relieved that his brother didn’t simply believe he was lying, “I meant before all of this.” When Diego’s expression remained one of confusion, even as Eudora’s eyes widened in realization, he clarified. Diego had never been the smartest of the bunch, even if he had more emotional intelligence than most of them put together. “I survived the apocalypse the _second_ time it happened,” he explained, “but when Five tried to send us back in time to stop it again, something went wrong. I ended up back on the day before Reggie died, and I’m somehow the only one to remember, I guess?”

Eudora had a hand covering her mouth in shock, but Diego only seemed more confused. “So wait,” he said, “when Five came to the present from the future, you came back as well?”

“No,” he said, growing slightly frustrated, “that wasn’t, just.“ He took a steadying breath rubbing his forehead with the heel of his palm. It was difficult to explain, but he needed to get it all out to him in a way that he could understand. “When Five came back from the apocalypse the first time,” he said slowly, “we all tried to stop it.”

Diego nodded, clearly trying to understand him, and it made him calm down to know that he believed him — he just wasn’t getting it entirely. Klaus had to admit it was barely comprehensible in the first place. “So what happened the first time?” Eudora asked tentatively.

“Most of,” he gestured around the room, “this happened the same, but Vanya ended up having a boyfriend who was only with her to unlock her powers and kill us for revenge.” Diego looked surprised, and he’d mostly forgotten that nobody knew about their sister’s hidden abilities. That would be something else he had to explain. “Eudora and Dave died,” he said, watching as his brother held onto Eudora tighter, “and Vanya almost killed Allison, shortly followed by the boyfriend. Allie survived, but Luther freaked out, which made Vanya think that we’d keep her locked up the rest of her life, so.” He shrugged. “She understandably had a breakdown, and _less_ understandably accidentally destroyed the world by shooting down the moon with a giant laser made of sound waves.”

“How did you suh-survive?” Diego croaked.

“Five had the seven of us all hold hands in a circle,” he said, throwing his hands up in defeat. It had been so long ago that it didn’t even really matter anymore — just a memory in his mind, nothing else. It hadn’t really even happened, with him as the only one who could remember as proof that the timeline existed. “He tried to transport us all back in time,” he continued, “but of course something went wrong. Except, instead of us all being teenagers again, I ended up being the only one who remembered the last timeline.”

“And why didn’t y-you tell us ea-earlier?” He asked, voice frustrated, and Klaus could feel his irritation growing.

Klaus’ family would never have trusted that he was telling the truth — they would’ve thought that he was high out of his goddamn mind, or piss drunk, or lying for the attention, as Luther had so kindly put it. “Would you have believed me if I told you?” He snapped, and Diego had the gall to look offended as well.

“Of course I would have believed you!” Diego shouted, bring his hands up to clutch at his hair. “I’m your brother, for fuck’s sake!”

“And I was a drug addict,” he said, shrugging helplessly. It was the truth — a painful truth, but still the _truth!_ He had lied, cheated, and stole his way from one high to the next, all to drown out the voices of the ghosts that he heard, and was only just beginning to tolerate. “We hadn’t seen each other for nearly a year,” he pointed out, jabbing a finger at him, “and the last time that we did back then, after my almost hundredth fucking overdose, you told me that you never wanted to see my junkie ass again!”

Diego’s jaw clenched, and he dropped his hands, fingers furling into fists. “I never should have said that,” he said slowly, voice low, “and while I might not have believed you immediately, I would have listened, and I would’ve trusted you were telling the truth eventually.” Reaching forwards, he gently rested his hand on Klaus’ shoulder. “When have I ever not at least listened to you, Klaus?”

The fight left Klaus immediately — it was true that Diego had never brushed him off, except when he was truly just being a dick. Shoulders slumping, he buried his face into his hands, ignoring the tears prickling at his eyes. Dave rubbed his back soothingly, smartly avoiding getting involved. “I was scared,” he confessed, and it felt so good to say it aloud.

“I’ve always trusted you to tell us the truth when it comes to important shit like this,” Diego said, and when his brother knelt in front of him, taking his hands into his own and rubbing his palms with his thumbs, Klaus started actually crying. He slipped his legs off of Dave’s, feet planting firmly in the carpet, and tried to avoid making eye contact with his brother. “You’re smart, and kind, and resourceful,” he said, “and I promise, I would have believed you like I do now, regardless of whether you were high out of your mind or sober as a saint.”

“I’ve been clean for over a year now,” he said impulsively, and Diego hummed in delighted surprise, holding his hands up to his mouth and kissing the knuckles gently. The gesture was so tender that a sob escaped his throat while he screwed his eyes shut.

“And I’m proud of you,” Diego said, voice calm and comforting while he continued to massage his hands, and it made his heart twist into happy knots of relief. The words that had previously remained unspoken made him so inexplicably happy, so absurdly joyous, that he wondered how he’d survived without them. “Dave here is a lucky guy,” he quipped jokingly.

“I am,” Dave agreed easily, speaking for the first time since the conversation had begun. He may have been an awkward, loving dork with the same streak of self-destructive tendencies as Klaus, but he recognized when he needed to stay out of a conversation. “Klaus is incredible,” he said, and it made him sob harder, although he was laughing as he gently shoved at his shoulder.

“Stop ganging up on me,” he demanded, voice wet and whiny, and he only half meant it.

Diego collapsed back onto his ass, crossing his legs underneath himself as his shoulders relaxed. He’d evidently been tense before, but now, he was simply relieved to have gotten Klaus into a better mood. “So, little brother,” he said, because no matter how much older Klaus was he’d still call him younger, “what do we do now?”

He heard Dave’s stomach audibly grumble, and while it was entertaining, it reminded him just how hungry he was. And damn, did he have a lot of food to show him — the culinary delights of the contemporary world would be something he took great pleasure in introducing to Dave, and partially to Fitzgerald, although his experience would be significantly less personal. “Well, my boyfriend,” Klaus leaned into him at the word, taking pleasure in the way his face lit up pink, “has lived his entire life unaware of the deliciousness of Griddy’s doughnuts, and I think that it’s time to enlighten him.”

“It did just reopen a couple days ago,” Eudora said with a sly smile, looking towards Diego. They were smushed together in the chair again, noses almost brushing, and Klaus wondered — _are they dating again?_ Maybe something had happened while he was out. “We can call your siblings, too,” she added, “make it, like, a bonding thing. They were worried sick about him.”

The information made his heart flutter, knowing that they had been worried about him, but it was also a good idea — family bonding at Griddy’s, just like the good days of sneaking out of the house through the windows when they were children to go get doughnuts. “Exactly, Diego!” He cheered, clapping his hands. “Let’s go out and make our siblings feel loved.”

“I wanna’ know if I can eat,” Ben mused, staring down at his hands.

“ _Trust me,_ ” Fitzgerald said because he had ‘experience,’ wagging his finger knowingly and putting a hand on his hip, “it’s worth it.”

“Ben wants to go,” Klaus said, pouting and making a praying gesture with his hands as he made his ghostly brother corporeal again. It was funny, how some of his best friends were dead already when spirits were his greatest fear as a child. The apocalypse and the last two years he’d been through had changed him for the better, although his night terrors were always awful, no matter if Dave was there or not. On the bright side, he had someone to hold him and wake him up whenever it got too bad.

Ben pouted too, and it broke Diego, who sighed and threw his head backwards into his armchair. “Fine,” he sighed, rubbing his forehead, “I’ll consent to Griddy’s.”

Klaus shouted in victory, giving a violent fist bump to Ben, and Diego was still looking at their ghost brother like he could cry. It was a good thing he’d practiced while in Vietnam, he figured. “Not sure whether to be excited or afraid to meet them, now,” Dave mused playfully, eyes flickering towards his brother and Eudora, and he grabbed his chin, smushing a kiss against his mouth.

“A healthy mixture of both,” Klaus ground out with a voice muffled by his lips, not pulling away, and Diego smiled despite the way he rolled his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we are OUT of Vietnam and BACK into the main plot! I’ve decided that the title of the Vietnam side story will be _**baby, my heart’s on fire**_ after a certain old song, that the chapter naming scheme will be 50s, 60s, and 70s music instead of classical music titles, and that it will be _entirely_ from Dave’s perspective, although I have no ETA for y’all.
> 
> Klaus, just for an update, has developed most of his abilities — he’s better at making ghosts corporeal and summoning them, and although he’s still pretty shit at telekinesis and the whole floating business, he’s working on it. The psychometry thing came because I thought it would be pretty in-character for Klaus. However, there’s one thing he hasn’t figured out yet that will be plot important later on. ;)
> 
> Next time, the gang heads to Griddy’s to heal from childhood trauma together.


	14. Massenet: Thaïs, Act 2: Méditation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The seven siblings reunite for the first time, and Klaus makes a discovery in the journal of Reginald Hargreeves.

Before they left and while Diego was phoning the mansion to tell them that he’d come back, Klaus had taken the briefcase out to Eudora’s backyard and smashed it to pieces with a hammer she’d allowed him to borrow. He destroyed it with a visceral pleasure, feeling its individual pieces shatter under his relentless assault until it finally caught fire, and the detective, having been prepared, ran inside to grab a fire extinguisher. She put it out with no small amount of foam, and they had stood around, looking at the wreckage until his brother came back out.

“Why is the briefcase on fire, Klaus?” Diego asked, face scrunching up in confusion. The dismembered remains of the briefcase would need to be cleaned up later, but that was an issue that would be dealt with another time, or even another day. “We could’ve used that,” he continued, gesturing towards the pile of foam and machinery.

“Important timeline rehabilitation business,” Klaus deadpanned. It would be an excuse he’d get used to using, as convenient as it was that nobody remembered the other one.

“I gave him permission,” Eudora assured him, and he visibly relaxed.

“Five’s abilities are all we need to escape if things get rough,” Klaus explained while they started heading inside to go through the house to the car waiting outside. Dave’s fingers laced with his, while Ben stuck close to them. Fitzpatrick had fucked off with the promise to meet them at the house, while Zoya, according to Ben, was there as well, with a couple of other ghosts from his time spent in the motel. “If he had the briefcase and easy access to his abilities,” he continued, “then he could potentially mess with the timeline whenever he wanted, and I don’t want that to be an extra variable I have to juggle.”

His boyfriend squeezed his hand. “And?” Dave asked, raising an eyebrow.

“And it was pretty damn satisfying,” he continued, drawing a laugh from Ben.

Diego sighed, although his smile was fond. Eudora threw an arm around his shoulders, releasing him to slip into the driver’s seat of the vehicle. It was a good thing, too, because while Diego was a good driver, he was also an aggressive driver, and Klaus didn’t want to be taking unnecessary risks to the others’ lives. His own survival was a non-issue, in light of more recent developments. “You’ve always had an arsonist streak,” he admitted, “like that one time when you tried making a bonfire in the courtyard out of our uniforms.”

“It’s ironic that I was the only one of us who was capable of cooking without burning the mansion to the ground,” Klaus sighed, reminiscing on the good old days of burning shit, hiding weed, and breaking as many household rules as he could. As awful as his childhood was, he found his own ways of making it entertaining enough.

They pulled out of the driveway, turning down the road that led to the commercial area that Griddy’s was located in. He hadn’t had doughnuts in forever, Dave in longer, and Klaus wanted to see him cry of joy for the deliciousness that was Agnes’ culinary genius. “It’s easy to forget that you were all superheroes once,” Eudora mused, turning right. Klaus, in the back passenger seat, was pressed lightly into Ben, who jumped at the contact, not used to being able to touch people and things. “I read your comics as a kid,” she confessed, “so it’s strange now, being in a car with you three.”

Ben lit up at being remembered and included, and Klaus beamed in response to his overjoyed smile. “Always happy to meet my fans,” he said, blowing a kiss up front, and she winked at him through the rear view mirror. Diego scoffed indignantly, gently slapping at her shoulder, while Dave snickered amusedly.

“You should’ve told me you had comic books,” Dave said, and Klaus regretted that he found out about that information. It was an embarrassing thing to reflect on, although he’d loved it back when they were younger. “You’re like Captain America, or Superman,” he sighed, leaning his head against the headrest of his seat and looking down at him fondly. They were roughly the same height, Dave only being a couple inches taller, but with the way that Klaus slouched the difference was much more pronounced.

“They were around in the sixties?” Ben asked, brow furrowing, and Dave nodded.

“Captain America was initially written in the forties,” he explained, leaning forwards as he started gesturing animatedly with his hands, “as a sort of war propaganda. Punching Nazis, fighting fascism and bigotry, stuff like that. And Superman was written only a few years earlier.”

“You’re such a nerd,” Klaus sighed, leaning against his shoulder.

Dave scoffed, although he was just amused. “You loved those comics as much as I did, baby,” he said, shaking his head, and Klaus had to agree. He still had old vintage comic books in the luggage he’d taken from the past.

When they finally arrived at Griddy’s, one of Reggie’s other vehicles was parked out front, a noticeable dent in the rear fender that Klaus was certain hadn’t been there before. They’d arrived already, and he could see them crammed into the largest booth in the restaurant, being the only one big enough to fit their family. Even Five had deemed it acceptable to make an appearance, although he clenched a butter knife in his hand like he wanted to stab someone.

“Let’s scare the _shit_ out of them,” he suggested to Ben, and the delighted, manic smile he gave in response told him that he accepted the proposal. Diego rolled his eyes at their antics, although the way his lips tugged up at the corners told Klaus that he found the idea amusing, and Eudora shook her head with a fond sigh. “I’m making you incorporeal now,” he said, just to give him a heads up, and Dave blinked as his brother disappeared from view.

They exited the vehicle, and Vanya perked up when she saw them through the window, tugging at Allison’s sleeve to get her attention as she said something to the rest of them. Turning together to watch them as they wet inside, bell ringing loudly to announce their entrance, Allison stood up, moving to embrace him with a teary, reddened face. She sniffled, holding him close, and as soon as she had released him Vanya was moving to take her place, her own face blotchy with tears.

“We were so _worried,_ ” Allison said, voice thick with emotion, and Klaus nodded, stepping back and wiping at his own face to dry the tears that had no down his cheeks. Sober him was an emotional person, and he was more sober than he’d been in over a decade.

“I’m glad you’re alright,” Luther said, and to Klaus’ surprise, the big guy stood up and moved to hold him with a surprising amount of tenderness. He hugged him like he was something breakable, and Klaus wrapped his own arms around his waist, unused to the affection from him. “When Diego called to say you’d been found,” he continued, “and then that you’d just— disappeared—“

“Where did you go?” Five asked, mouth fixed in a frown. He stared down at the knife in his hands, holding it so he could look at his reflection, and it was so brooding that Klaus nearly laughed aloud. “I suppose I should say when,” he amended, still not glancing upwards.

“Vietnam, back in sixty-eight,” Diego said before he could brush off the question, settling down in the booth with Eudora. The rest of them sat back down, and Klaus slipped into the booth with Dave, holding his hand under the table. Ben clambered on top of it, sitting cross-legged between them, and it wouldn’t have been an acceptable position of any of them could actually see him. “Stayed a whole ten months,” he scoffed, shaking his head.

“You’re kidding,” Luther exclaimed, eyes widening.

The rest of them had similar reactions, reacting with shock and horror. Five’s jaw clenched, skin going pale while his fist closed around the knife, and Klaus could see him taking slow, measured breaths. “And why didn’t you come back immediately after you arrived?” He asked, voice strained.

“Didn’t know how it worked,” Klaus answered, because that had been why he’d stuck around for the first couple of months the first time around, so it wasn’t technically a lie.

“It was closer to eleven, actually,” Dave corrected, and the attention was suddenly on him. He visibly swallowed, although he didn’t back down from their steady gazes. “Months in Vietnam, that is. Ten months fighting,” he explained, “and then a couple weeks afterwards recovering in the States.”

Eudora was a known presence in their lives — most of them had met her at least once, and she was generally well liked, so her presence hadn’t been questioned. However, Dave was definitely a stranger, and Allison frowned, hands coming to rest on her upper thighs. “Klaus,” she said slowly, blinking as if to make sure she was seeing him properly, “who is this?”

“I’m Dave,” Dave answered, at the same time as Klaus said, “He’s my boyfriend.” They glanced at each other, and Klaus snickered at the way Dave blushed, a smile tugging at his lips. If Dave never stopped getting flustered at being called his boyfriend, he’d be content with that.

“You met in Vietnam?” Vanya asked tentatively, eyes flickering between them, and Klaus nodded.

“Klaus saved me more times than I can count,” Dave said, and Klaus was getting spoiled by all of the positive attention he was receiving. He used to be a pariah, with nobody wanting to deal with his bullshit, but he’d changed and seen a change in the way others reacted to him. “I’m glad to finally be able to meet all of you,” he said, extending a hand towards Luther.

His brother stared at it for a moment, and while Klaus was afraid he would decline the gesture, after a beat he took his hand, shaking it warmly. “Luther,” he introduced himself tentatively, and Dave nodded.

“I’m Allison,” his sister explained, taking his hand when it was offered and shaking it delicately. She smiled at him, although it was tight around the edges, and Klaus knew she was just protective. It had been the same with Leonard/Harold, back in the original timeline. “Pleased to meet you, Dave.”

“Vanya,” his other sister introduced, noticeably warmer. She gave an awkward grin, posture rigid and shy. “Thanks for taking care of him,” she said.

“My pleasure,” Dave assured, “although he did more to take care of me than I did to look after him.”

“Don’t give me too much credit,” Klaus joked.

“Five,” their youngest-oldest brother said. Fingers lacing together on the table as he finally set his knife down, he leaned forwards, brows furrowing while he stared Klaus down. “Your insertion into the timeline must’ve drawn the attention of the Commission,” he said, “so how could you possibly spend ten months there without their involvement?”

“Oh, no,” Klaus said, shaking his head, “they tried to kill him.”

“And did you bring back the briefcase?” He asked, voice strained.

Sighing dramatically, he shook his head. “Unfortunately, it suffered a malfunction after the return journey,” he said, and Five blanched, stretching his fingers rather aggressively like he was itching to strangle something. It was intimidating, knowing that their thirteen year old brother could defeat dozens of armed special forces agents singlehandedly and having some of the same anger directed at you. “It blew up,” he said succinctly, and Five looked towards Diego for confirmation.

Klaus was a little worried that his brother wouldn’t back him up, and maybe even rat him out for destroying it, but Diego was both trustworthy and good at keeping his promises. “It was quite the sight,” he drawled, winking at Klaus. He noticed the fond way that Eudora was looking at him, corners of her mouth tugged up in a small grin.

“Damnit,” Five cursed, slamming his fist into the table.

Klaus wished that he could reassure him that it was better for the timeline, but Five couldn’t possibly be allowed to find that out without immediately questioning how he had the knowledge he did. To be honest, Klaus was surprised that Five hadn’t managed to figure out his involvement yet. He was also pleasantly surprised when he didn’t immediately teleport away — in the other timeline, he would’ve simply left.

“Klaus,” Ben said, and he looked up at his brother, “let’s do it.”

Nodding subtly, he leaned forwards, bracing himself on the table. He was about to justify nearly a decade of being labeled an asshole for ‘pretending’ to be able to see their deceased brother, and the stage fright was real. The last time he had, from their perspective he’d tossed a bowling ball through nothing and insisted that it was their dead brother, and even though he was confident in his abilities now, there was still the fear that he’d fuck up and ruin any progress they’d had.

Ben stepped off the table, standing in front of the table with a look of eager anticipation, and Klaus took a deep breath. “There’s something else I haven’t told you yet,” he said ominously, folding his hands on the table, and the others looked at him in concern.

“What is it?” Allison asked, frowning.

“As you all likely did not know,” he started, heartbeat racing, “I’ve been sober for over a year, now.”

“Congrats, Klaus,” Vanya exclaimed, startled by the news, and the rest of them offered their shocked congratulations as well. Even though Luther seemed surprised, he was still smiling, and Five’s features had softened at the statement.

“Thanks,” Klaus said sheepishly, struggling to contain his joy at finally being believed for that. He’d worked hard to get to that point, and although it was still a struggle he’d deal with for the rest of his life, he’d won the worst part of the battle. “You also already knew that my powers get stronger when I’m sober,” he said, leaning forwards, “yeah?”

They nodded in confirmation, seeming confused. Diego was struggling to keep a straight face, while Eudora had a hand covering her mouth and Dave was as unflappable as ever. Ben was bouncing on his heels in anticipation, and if Klaus was feeling nervous, then Ben must’ve been even more anxious. It would be the first time they’d actually seen him since his death, and the first time that he’d be able to communicate with them, and Klaus was delighted to be able to give him the opportunity to be a member of the family again.

Vanya’s mouth dropped, and he remembered telling her about Ben in her apartment building after the tattoos. She likely had figured it out already, and he winked at her, letting her know that she was in on the secret. Nodding, she brushed the hair out of her face, looking down at the table.

“Well,” he said, making Ben corporeal, and the way their faces turned white as sheets was just about the funniest thing he’d ever had the pleasure of witnessing. Looking at his siblings, he furrowed his brows, trying to seem confused as he glanced around the doughnut shop. “What’s wrong?” He asked innocently. Diego almost corpsed and blew it, but he somehow managed to maintain a straight face.

“You can’t,” Five choked out, expression alarmed, “you—“

Allison covered her mouth with her hands, eyes tearing up. “Oh my God,” she stuttered, and he knew she was overjoyed.

“It’s Ben,” Luther said breathlessly, and Klaus tilted his head.

“Really?” He gasped, placing a hand over his chest dramatically. They looked towards him, and he felt a sadistic sort of amusement at their confusion. “Why must you feel the need to,” he gestured helplessly, “to disrespect his memory like this? Saying his name in vain when he’s obviously not here?”

They stared at him, glancing between him and Ben, until it finally seemed to click for Allison. Hands clenching in her lap, her face dropped as she looked at him with thinly veiled horror. “You’ve been able to see him this entire time,” she breathed, “ever since he died, and we didn’t believe you, Klaus.”

“No,” Luther said, shaking his head, “it couldn’t— we—“

“I’m so, so sorry,” Vanya breathed, tearing up. She was the first to stumble out of her seat and clamber over Klaus and Dave to embrace Ben, and when Ben instantly burst into tears, the rest of them started crying.

Even Five was tearing up, trying to disguise his tears by pointedly staring at the wall. Jaw clenched, he wiped aggressively at his face, lips pursed and eyes wet, and Klaus figured he’d resigned himself to never seeing Ben again — never being able to apologize for leaving them, and not coming back until after he’d already died. “Shit,” he cursed quietly, just loud enough for Klaus to hear.

“Klaus, I should’ve listened,” Luther said, and he shrugged.

“I was a depressed junkie, and my relationship with Ben had always been too codependent,” Klaus said, grimacing. It hadn’t been a good time for him — none of the last decade had been a good time, really. “I wasn’t thinking straight, and it wasn’t too much of a stretch to think that I was lying, or at least hallucinating and delusional.”

“But it’s literally your _power,_ ” Allison deadpanned. Face buried in Ben’s scalp, she was combing through his hair while he cried, hands wrapped around their other siblings. “We should’ve known that you’d be able to see him,” she insisted.

“He showed up sober to the funeral,” Ben piped up, and Klaus blushed. It had been a long-standing misconception, that he’d shown up high to Ben’s funeral, and one that he’d been okay with allowing to continue, although it still irked him to know they thought that little of him. From his perspective, it was easier to allow them to think the crying and sobbing and refusing to leave Ben’s casket had been the drugs, rather than have them know just how much of an emotional wreck he’d been. Following the funeral, however, was another story altogether. “He wasn’t high,” he said, “he wouldn’t do something like that.”

“Oh, God,” Vanya choked out, and he knew it was because she’d written it in her book, in the chapter dedicated to him. The world had gotten to know that version of events, and it hurt, having the reputation of someone who’d show up high to a funeral. “Klaus,” she said, “I made a mistake, I— I’m so sorry.”

“I’m serious,” he said, starting to feel embarrassed, “it’s alright.”

“We’ll make this better,” Luther promised solemnly. He sat back down, wiping the tears from his eyes roughly. The rest followed so9n after, although they still fretted over Ben. “We’ll make it up to you.”

“Unnecessary,” he tried to protest, blushing as he hunched slightly in his seat.

“We were all such assholes to you, though,” Diego pointed out, leaning forwards across the table to grab Klaus’ wrist. The point of contact was warm, and Klaus relaxed underneath his touch. “You can’t say that we weren’t,” he insisted, “and so we’re going to make it better. We’ll do right by you from here on out, Klaus.”

“You told me to give you my trust,” Luther said, “and you have it.”

Klaus was getting really tired of crying.

When they finally calmed down, wiping away the familial tears as Dave and Eudora awkwardly watched the reunification of seven siblings, Agnes deemed it safe enough to venture over, notepad held in her hand and a knowing smile on her face. She’d served them when they were little, and Klaus was certain that she remembered them from twenty years before. Ben ordered his enthusiastically, ready to have his first food in over a decade.

While Vanya stuck around long enough to eat her doughnut and chat with Ben, she eventually stood up to excuse herself and leave, seeming much more comfortable than she had been. “John’s been texting me,” she explained, and Klaus blanched, because what the fuck was texting, “and I want to go assure him that everything’s alright, now.” Removing several slips of paper, she lifted them up, gesturing towards the group. He spotted the string instruments printed on glossy paper, and knew what they were. “I have a concert in a couple of nights,” she said, “and I was hoping, um, maybe you could come.”

“If you’ve forgotten, the freaking _apocalypse_ happens in three days,” Five said, expression stern, but while Vanya’s face dropped alongside Klaus’ heart into his stomach, Allison scoffed.

“Of course we’ll come to your concert,” Allison said, accepting the ticket. Luther followed shortly after, Ben following after eagerly, and there was no way Klaus could turn down a ticket from his beloved sister, especially when rejecting her was what started it in the first place. Diego grabbed his, reading the description of the event found on the front of the ticket.

Five looked irked by their display, and the fact that they’d chosen Vanya’s concert over helping him prevent the end of days. Jaw tightening, his fists were clenched in his lap like he was restraining himself from lashing out. “Do you all seriously want to attend her concert rather than help stop the apocalypse?” He asked disbelievingly, and Klaus knew he had to step in.

“You already know the hospital that the guy who loses an eye will be at,” Klaus reminded him with a shrug. Leaning back against his seat, he folded his arms behind his head, crossing his ankles. “We’ve basically stopped the apocalypse already,” he said, winking at Diego, “so why not go see our sister perform? Who knows, maybe that’s the reason for the apocalypse. We didn’t see our sister’s concert because we all hated each other’s guts.”

“And now we don’t,” Ben finished, kicking his foot underneath the table.

Considering, he finally shook his head, leaning forwards to grab his ticket. “If we end up unable to stop the end of the world because of this,” he said, slipping the paper into his pocket and fixing his tie, “then I’ll resent you all for the rest of my short, miserable life.”

“Duly noted, Fivey,” Klaus assured.

With that, their brother teleported away, and they were left together in the doughnut shop, the bill already paid by Luther using the not insignificant funds left to him by their deceased father before the reading of his will would even take place. “Seriously though, what’s texting?” Klaus asked to fill the silence, wondering how much he could’ve missed in the short time that he was gone.

“Do you really not know?” Allison queried, brows furrowing as she whipped out a small, shiny box, and he shook his head, leaning forwards. He tapped a button, and when it lit up with the time, date, and several pop-ups like he’d seen on the computers in the library, he jerked backwards.

“What the fuck is _that_ thing?” He asked somewhat hysterically.

“A... phone?” Luther said, confused.

“You probably changed something when you went back in time,” Diego said with a shrug.

What ensued was a very long, very detailed explanation of recent technological innovations while Allison taught Dave, a literal baby boomer, how to work a smartphone. And he’d been spending all his time changing history in Vietnam that he never stopped to wonder what the consequences would be. Apparently, the consequence was that they lived in a technologically superior world where phones were little black wireless boxes and cars could be driverless and, perhaps most strangely of all, people could have their genes edited. He couldn’t be too disappointed.

“It’s been really nice,” Vanya said when he’d finally recovered from his shock, embracing the rest of them, and Klaus kissed her forehead.

“It was nice meeting you,” Dave assured, shaking her hand again.

“I’m glad that Klaus has someone like you in his life,” Vanya returned in kind.

“Love you, Vanya,” Klaus chirped, and Allison delivered a similar sentiment.

After Vanya left, the rest of them started leaving, staring with Luther and Allison and ending with Klaus and his companions. Diego agreed to give them a ride to the mansion, and when they finally arrived, he stretched contentedly, beaming at his grizzly brother.

“That went really, really well,” he assured him, but Diego simply raised an eyebrow.

“Are you sure it didn’t just go really, really poorly,” he asked, “but in a different way, and you didn’t notice?”

“Don’t be so sour,” Klaus teased, brushing him off. Everything had been perfect — there was the chance that he could’ve fucked things up, but he knew that he would’ve known if something had gone wrong. All of the little things that had led up to the apocalypse the last time had been fixed, from the eyeball to Leonard/Harold to their familial relationship. Last time the day had happened, Vanya had stormed off because they didn’t involve her in talks about the apocalypse, and now she had invited them all to their concert which they were going to attend. “Everything’s perfect,” he assured him.

Diego still didn’t look convinced. “Alright, then,” he said cautiously.

“We have some paperwork to fill out at the police station,” Eudora said, reaching out to give Klaus a surprise hug that he returned warmly after the initial shock, “so we’re going to leave, but have fun and stay safe.”

“Take care,” Dave said.

They’d left, and they went upstairs. Dave decided it would be a good time to take a bath, but as much as Klaus wanted to join him, there was a ghost screaming his head off _(literally)_ in the bathroom, and while the hallways weren’t much better, somehow more crowded than they had been previously, there was only a maid in his bedroom, and he wanted to take the opportunity to read Reginald’s book while everyone was out of the house.

“I’m gonna’ lock my door so Pogo and Grace can’t barge in,” he told him quietly, “so knock when you’re finished up in there.”

“Alright,” Dave said, kissing him warmly. He’d never get tired of having him close again.

When Dave left, he entered his room, locking the door and immediately moving to grab Reginald’s book from where he had hidden it. Flipping to the page where it said his name at the top, Ben frowned, looking at him with a concerned expression. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea,” he said, and Klaus tilted his head.

“Why?” He asked.

Ben shrugged. “It just feels like there are some things that you’d regret reading,” he said, leaning over his desk. Reaching out, his hand faltered before he grabbed a book, and the relief on his face was noticeable. “I mean,” he continued, “wasn’t it the book that caused the apocalypse the first couple times that it happened?”

“That was Vanya, not me,” Klaus said, starting to read while Ben sat down next to him.

_00.04 Development of psychic abilities stunted by fretful, morbid temperament. Inexplicable resemblance to an Ingmar Bergman extra._

Klaus laughed aloud — the first words Reginald Hargreeves ever wrote about him were centered around his appearance and neurotic personality, and he didn’t even know who Ingmar Bergman was, let alone what his extras were supposed to look like. They likely resembled himself, he supposed. It confirmed what he figured Reggie’s feelings towards him were, of course, simply serving to prove he thought of him as cowardly and mostly useless.

“What an _asshole,_ ” Ben drawled, leaning back in his chair. Klaus hummed, smoothing his hand over his bedsheets with a long sigh. Grabbing a pillow, he stuffed it under his chest to prop himself up, pulling the scarlet book closer to his face. “He really didn’t care about us beyond our abilities,” he mused, and Klaus nodded in agreement.

_Aged four years — the child appears unconcerned by the spirits of the dead. When pressed to answer why, states that they simply leave when he orders them to. I requested he cease this behavior and begin legitimate interactions, although he soon may require a more forceful intervention if he is to develop his abilities._

_No manifestation of other abilities has occurred. However, I am certain he will be capable of at least short-range telekinesis. Telepathy is highly unlikely, as is an sort of resurrection capability. The latter has too great of a risk to properly test, as it would be unproductive to mistakenly kill him prior to stopping the upcoming apocalypse._

That was surprising news, because sometimes, if Klaus asked nicely, the less corrupted ghosts would leave him alone, but it hardly ever worked. He couldn’t remember being able to convince them to leave when he was younger, although it wasn’t like he had many memories from his early childhood. He knew that he was a relatively happy child until his late childhood, and that he’d started being locked in the mausoleum when he was ten or eleven.

He figured at least that if he actually had telepathy, it would have developed already. He was so, so grateful that he didn’t have to listen to everybody‘s thoughts all the time, in addition to the noises that the ghosts made. Otherwise, he supposed he would have been institutionalized by the time he hit puberty.

Klaus wished he could say he was surprised that Reggie was so pragmatic about testing his resurrection, but it was obvious that he wouldn’t care about his life, only about risking whatever ‘greater purpose’ he’d raised them for. It was frustrating, but he’d come to terms with simply being a tool in their adoptive father’s eyes.

_With Number Four aged five years, I have begun taking him to a nearby graveyard which I have purchased for training purposes,_ he read, which was confusing, because he could’ve sworn that the first time he was locked up in the mausoleum was when he was around ten, _but he continues to show reluctance to interact with the dead. He reports that he made them leave, and when I demanded he allow them to return, he refused. We returned to the mansion, where I continued having him attempt to bend metal spoons, although the experiment yielded no results._

He couldn’t remember telekinetic training, either, although the notes in the passages that he continued reading seemed to imply that the training continued until late childhood. Klaus prided himself on his memory, but he was drawing a complete blank, not remembering spoons or mausoleums or anything else until he was an older child. The timeline didn’t correlate whatsoever, as concerning as it was.

“Hey, Ben,” he started, drawing him out of the book he was absorbed in, “do you remember me ever training my telekinesis as a kid?”

Ben frowned, leaning on his hand with a pensive expression. He thought on it before shaking his head apologetically. “I can’t remember that ever happening,” he answered, and Klaus wondered if Reginald had fabricated it, although he couldn’t figure out what his motive would’ve been. Nobody saw the journal except their father himself.

“Okay,” he said skeptically, flipping the page. _My patience in Number Four is wearing thin — he is objectively among the most powerful of the seven children,_ that was a twisted sort of compliment, Klaus figured, _yet he remains rebellious and unruly. He is ten years behind his siblings in his training, and continues to misbehave during his lessons, although he has developed an nearly unparalleled mastery of language and mathematics, surpassed only by Number Five._

That was something he remembered, outranking his siblings when they were drilled in French and Spanish, German and Chinese, and having a mind like a calculator, but he couldn’t for the life of him recall anything else. There were gaps that he hadn’t realized were there, like it had been with Vanya’s powers, and when that thought came to mind, his stomach sank.

_As a last resort,_ Reginald’s elegant cursive read, _I have used the same method I used on Number Seven to train her out of her rebelliousness to prevent him from banishing the spirits. He required a brief quarantine while Number Three used her rumor ability to erase any memory he had of his ability to drive the ghosts away, and although this process will likely prevent him from furthering his telekinetic abilities, he was making no progress regardless. I anticipate starting to make progress in his mediumship tomorrow._

_“I heard a rumor,”_ Allison had mumbled, awkwardly glancing at Reginald, _“that the only power you have is seeing ghosts.”_ It had seemed innocuous at the time, and he’d promptly forgotten that it ever happened alongside a large portion of his childhood, but right after was when his mental health had taken a nosedive. It only grew worse when the mausoleum started, and culminated in his first episode of acute alcohol poisoning at age fifteen, although it didn’t stop there.

Tentatively reaching out with his mind, he felt the dozens of presences in the house, and only held onto a few — Zoya, Ben, Fitzgerald, and a couple of random others that felt like they had friendly enough intentions. It felt like it was incompatible with his very being, the idea that he could push it away, but Allison’s rumors changed the fabric of reality. If she said he had no other powers, then he had no other powers, even if he did. Regardless of the deep, existential sense of wrong he felt, he pushed, and suddenly he was put into the blissful silence he’d been chasing since he first went on opioids after breaking his jaw falling down the stairs in Grace’s heels.

“Klaus,” Ben said, looking up, “why is it suddenly so quiet?”

He could’ve been chasing them away the entire time, and he hadn’t known — twenty years of his life, thrown down the drain because as a child he didn’t want to see mangled corpses and the corrupted spirits of the dead. So much suffering, for absolutely nothing. Bathing in the silence, the quiet he onły dreamed of since he was little but had recently adapted to not having, he didn’t realize how much he’d missed it until he’d gotten it back.

“Klaus,” Ben said worriedly, and he closed the book, resting it on his lap.

Burying his head in his hands, he filled the silence with a scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That moment when you accidentally kill the time traveling assassin who later killed the man who invented the mobile cellphone... oops? I was just real tired of the technology gap and wanted Klaus to be weirded out trying to figure it out haha.
> 
> Sorry for the cliffhanger! I wanted to make this longer, but I also wanted to post it so we don’t have too big of a gap between chapters. It ended up around five thousand words, though, so it wasn’t bad.
> 
> You know what else is almost five thousand? The number of views on this story. I’m really grateful to y’all for reading this piece of self-indulgent shit, and that I’ve read all of your comments and am really happy you’re enjoying it! It’s been a labor of love, and now, as we’re three or four chapters from the end, I’m more excited than ever for reaching its conclusion. Things are gonna’ get rocky from here on out, so buckle your seatbelts.
> 
> Next time, a confrontation, and Klaus discovers that maybe the apocalypse isn’t as averted as he wanted to believe.


	15. Orfeo ed Euridice, Wq. 30 - Arranged Sgambati / Act Two: Melodie dell’Orfeo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klaus has a breakdown, while Luther is concerned.

He didn’t know how long it was between his discovery and when Dave burst through his already damaged, locked door in a shower of wooden chips, but suddenly he was being cradled in a pair of strong, familiar arms as his brother embraced him as well. Tears making tracks down his face, he sobbed, clutching onto Dave’s shoulders with everything he had while his boyfriend was dressed only in a towel haphazardly wrapped around his waist. As he calmed down, soothed by his two favorite people comforting him, he looked around the room and found that objects had fallen off of shelves and furniture.

“You caused an earthquake, Klaus,” Ben explained cautiously when his crying had turned into quiet sniffles. It made his stomach twist in guilt and regret, although he was too exhausted to react too roughly. “After you were killed,” he continued, “in the motel room by those two Commission agents, you caused some sort of telekinetic storm, and I think this was something similar?”

“Great,” Klaus choked out, “so first it was Harold Jenkins, then Vanya, and now it’s gonna’ be me. That’s just fantastic.”

“You’re not going to end the world, sweetheart,” Dave assured him softly, trailing a line of kisses up his cheek and concluding on his temple. Klaus still didn’t believe him, but the words somehow made him feel better. “You have Ben and I,” he continued, “and the rest of your siblings.”

“If necessary, I could take Vanya’s meds,” Klaus joked weakly, and while Dave laughed, his expression was pained.

“Doll,” he drawled, voice tight, “from what I’ve heard, I’d rather have the end of the world than you on another drug ever again, especially like the one you said she had to take.”

Then, there was a soft gasp, and when he looked up, it was Allison standing in the doorway, and he suddenly knew what it felt like to be Vanya in Harold’s murder cabin in the woods, faced with the realization that her own sister rumored her. Klaus felt anger, but he immediately felt guilty for it — Allison had been, like, ten at the time, and she was just as much a victim of their father’s abuse as he was.

“Klaus,” Allison exclaimed, kneeling on the floor next to them with an alarmed, wild look in her eyes, “are you okay? There was an earthquake, and Grace and Pogo evacuated, but I didn’t know if you were safe.” She didn’t know what he’d just discovered, couldn’t have realized, but then her eyes caught on the red notebook still laying open on the floor where it had fallen. Brows furrowing, mouth turning downwards, her hands clenched in her pants. “Why do you have dad’s notebook?” She asked wearily, reaching out tentatively like she wanted to grab it and turn it over.

“Read the third page of my chapter,” he instructed her, closing his eyes as he leaned back against the bed, and while Dave hadn’t found out why he’d had his breakdown, Ben’s hand tightened on his shoulder. Nonetheless, Dave still held him closer reassuringly, like he sensed that he needed the comfort.

Allison scanned the pages, eyes widening in horror while she covered her mouth with her hand. Releasing a muffled sound of distress, she dropped the book and pulled him into an embrace, letting him bury his face into her shoulder. He hugged her back, closing his eyes while she held him close. “I’m so sorry, Klaus,” she said, voice cracking, “he said— he said that your powers were hurting you, and that I was helping you. I thought you’d be happier without, he said you’d be less sick all the time and I, fuck, I believed him—“

“Allison, it’s okay,” he tried to say tiredly, clutching at his head to try to chase the ache away, but she continued to babble out apologies. Everyone was too close, and he was suddenly in Vietnam again, trapped in that claustrophobic mausoleum one moment and the muddy, sweltering trenches that smelled of death the next, and he groaned, eyes squeezing shut. “Please,” he said, the words coming out strained, “just stop!”

Every loose object in the room rattled, and Allison paused, glancing around the room. “Was that you?” She asked tentatively, backing off just enough that he felt less like ants were crawling over his skin, and he hesitantly nodded, afraid and embarrassed to admit it. Swallowing, she seemingly was trying to remain calm. “And was,” she started, “was the earthquake you, too?”

“Yes,” Klaus answered numbly.

“He’s started to get control over it these past few months,” Dave was quick to explain, close enough to reassure Klaus of his presence but far enough away to not make him panic, “and this is only the second time this kind of, uh, outburst has happened.”

Taking a deep breath, Allison nodded. “That’s okay,” she said, “that’s okay. We all had to go through the same process of developing our powers, and you’re just going through it later than the rest of us.”

“None of you almost destroyed a large city with a fucking _earthquake,_ ” he pointed out sullenly, and Allison winced.

“I suppose that’s true—“ she tried to say, but Klaus took advantage of the concession.

“You see, Allison,” he interrupted, clumsily stumbling to his feet as Dave and his siblings watched, “this entire family is messed up.” Burying his hands into his hair, he could feel himself starting to sweat, hands shaking. His breaths came unevenly, and he could feel another panic attack coming on, the walls closing in while his vision blurred. “We say we love each other, we say we trust each other,” he insisted, “but everything comes back to the fact that we’re seven emotionally stunted siblings that never learned how to communicate normally.”

“How does that— I mean,“ Allison started, dumbfounded, “what connection does that have to do with me telling you we’ve all been through the same process of learning about ourselves?”

“I can’t be angry at you, because I love you so, so much, Allison,” Klaus confessed, “but I can’t understand why you couldn’t have told me.” Staring down at his hands, he wished he could sleep, enjoy the silence he’d been missing for so long. He wanted to cry, wanted to bury his face in his pillow and forget about the apocalypse and everything else, but he couldn’t just end the conversation. “I wasted twenty years of my life,” he said, “trying to drive the ghosts away, and you could’ve fixed— Jesus Christ, I wouldn’t have ever—“

“Klaus, listen,” Allison pleaded, voice breaking, “things were bad, but they’re getting better.” She stood up, moving to grab his shoulders, and he leaned forwards to wrap his arms around her waist. While she initially startled, she returned the embrace soon, gently running her fingers through his hair. “We’re talking now, like normal people,” she said, “all seven of us, and we’re working through our trauma together.” Klaus could feel himself tearing up, although he tried to keep from having another full breakdown.

“We’ll never be normal,” he said, voice coming out muffled from his lips being smushed against her.

“Is that a bad thing?” She asked, and after a moment, he shook his head.

“At least I can bring Ben back,” he said, sniffling, and she nodded.

“And hey,” she said, “Vanya is normal and look at her. Neglected so badly she still had confidence issues.”

Their sister was anything but normal, but it wasn’t the time to bring it up. He nodded into her shoulder, letting her hold him for several more minutes before he pulled away, but soon Luther was running through the now permanently open doorway, looking between them with an expression of panic.

“Are all of you alright?” He asked gruffly, and Allison nodded.

“Klaus found out some,” Allison paused, glancing at him, “things that dad was keeping from him, and had a bit of a freak out, but he’s better now.”

“The earthquake was him?” Luther asked, and he shrugged.

“Apparently, sober me is crazy powerful,” he said, waving his hands, “big surprise there.” Luther stared at him blankly, mouth falling open, and he started released a hysterical giggle. “I mean,” he said, “dad always said I wasn’t living up to my full potential, and—“

“Are you the cause of the apocalypse?” Luther asked, going straight the point, and he sure hoped not.

He stuck his hands on his hips, pouting at his brother. “Do I look like I’m missing an eye?” He snarked, gesturing towards his face, and after a moment, Luther shook his head. “Exactly.”

Luther glanced around the room, then at the broken door. “I’ll go get some wood to cover this until we get a replacement,” he said awkwardly, turning around and leaving. He was likely heading towards the supply closet, or maybe towards the basement. Klaus was lucky he didn’t see the book, he realized, and he swiftły hid it inside of the spot where he’d been keeping it.

Turning towards Klaus, Allison gently covered his cheek with her manicured hand, rubbing his cheekbone with her thumb in an affectionate gesture. “You get some rest, alright?” She said, meeting his gaze with large, sorrowful brown eyes. “I was originally coming to ask you how much you know about Vanya’s boyfriend,” she said, “but you deserve to sleep.”

That didn’t sound good, _Vanya’s boyfriend,_ but he didn’t have the energy to ask her to elaborate. “Alright, Allison,” Klaus agreed, utterly exhausted.

“We’ll talk more tomorrow,” Allison promised. She leaned up to kiss his forehead before backing up towards the open doorway, smiling. “I love you, Klaus,” she said, “and I’m so, so sorry.”

“Love you too, sis,” he said wearily, waving his ‘goodbye’ hand. She waved back, and with that, she turned left down the hallway, disappearing around the corner. He missed her immediately, but he was glad when he turned around and Dave was there, hands hovering like he wanted to hold him but wasn’t sure how to ask. Klaus moved forwards, slipping between his arms, and he held him close, kissing the crown of his head. “And I love you, Dave,” he added.

“I’m gonna’ go check on the state of the house,” Ben said, moving to leave through the wall. Klaus appreciated that he knew he wanted to be alone with his boyfriend. “Love you, Klaus,” he said teasingly, and Klaus stuck his tongue out at him, although he returned it.

Dave pulled him into bed, allowing him to nestle into the crook of his arm, and he closed his eyes after stripping off his shirt and pants so he was just laying in his boxers. Dave pulled off his towel, despite the fact that it made him completely naked, then tugged the covers up over them. Luther returned eventually, nailing a large wooden board into his doorway, hesitating before bidding them goodnight.

It was so quiet, and it was strange to have that sort of silence when he wasn’t high as a kite. He was suddenly conscious of it in a way he knew he shouldn’t have been, fixating on the sound their breathing made, the way he could hear the traffic outside and the faint sound of people talking down the hall. He trailed his finger over Dave’s chest, listening to the gentle sound of his finger dragging across fabric, and focused on his own heartbeat in his ears. He hadn’t known that he could hear his own heartbeat.

“Y’know,” Dave drawled, “I think you’re pretty incredible.”

Klaus hummed, leaning up to kiss him. “You’re handling all of this surprisingly well,” he deflected, and Dave shrugged, pulling him closer to his chest.

“It’s easy when I have someone as amazing as you, babydoll,” he assured him, voice sounding groggy. It had been a difficult day, but all Klaus wanted to do was bathe in his presence, despite how exhausted he was. He was alive, and it made everything he’d been through worth it. “I wanna’ learn more about you,” he continued, “more about your family...”

“Such a sap,” Klaus murmured.

They fell asleep together, and Klaus finally had peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a short chapter (2k words), but otherwise my blocking would be thrown off and I wanted to post this. It made more sense on its own than as part of the next chapter, and I don’t like cliffhangers anyways. Klaus seems like the kind of person who can’t hold a grudge, seeing as he immediately forgave Luther in the show for tossing him around like a rag doll before leaving him dead in the club, and he didn’t seem to have any resentment against his siblings at the beginning of the show. He wouldn’t be too mad at Allison herself, just her actions.
> 
> Expect another chapter in a day or two! Not gonna’ lie, three or four chapters was just an estimation. There is the very real possibility it might be more than that, and there’s also a 50/50 chance that there will be a sequel of equal length.
> 
> Next time, shit hits the fan, and Klaus knew he should’ve taken the L and preemptively killed Harold Jenkins.


	16. Première Gymnopédie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang splits up to look for clues, while Klaus starts a road trip.

It was a rough night, but while he dreamt of burning corpses and demolished buildings and a bloated, distorted moon crashing down from the sky above, there was Dave when he woke up, stroking a tender hand over his hips as he blinked his weary eyes open to the morning light streaming in through his curtains. He leaned forwards and kissed his soft, delicate lips with a hum, and they made out as the sun rose, his hands skimming over his torso but not dipping lower than his waist. The silence, while it had been too much the last night, was growing on him. It was quiet in a way it hadn’t been for years, silent and calm and his ears didn’t hurt anymore, and it invigorated him. He had absolute silence, besides the sounds of their lips slotting together.

However, just when Klaus finally slipped his fingers along Dave’s naked hipbone, feeling him softly gasp into his parted lips, they were interrupted by a knocking on the makeshift plywood barrier that had been fitted over what had originally been his second door. “Family meeting,” Luther called gruffly, and he rolled his eyes.

“Maybe later,” Dave assured him softly, and he finally conceded.

When they arrived downstairs, having changed into respectable clothing, Five was in the living room, looking alarmingly cheery. Zoya and Fitzgerald waved at him enthusiasticalły from a table by the window, alongside the Asian ghost with an axe sticking out of his head and the blood-covered cheerleader from the motel who the Commission agents had murdered. “While you all were doing,” he glanced between them, “whatever you’ve been doing, I’ve been trying to stop the apocalypse.” Holding out a piece of paper, Klaus felt his heart drop into his stomach, skin growing clammy.

“Harold Jenkins?” Allison asked.

“Harold Jenkins,” Diego breathed, recognizing the name from Klaus’ rehashing of the apocalypse, and Klaus knew that he’d royally fucked up.

“Maybe the apocalypse is still on after all,” Klaus breathed, and Dave squeezed his hands to comfort him. He’d thought he’d fixed everything, but he’d only ignored the real problem, which was that he was still out there somewhere. “Hey, Diego,” he said, “you think you could find a police record for him?”

Five scratched his chin, before pointing at him. “That’s actually a smart idea, Klaus,” he complimented mildly, pacing madly across the room. He was in a brainstorming mood, likely working out equations and puzzle pieces in his head as he connected the dots, and Klaus almost hoped he would figure it out and come up with the answer. “Diego, you should do that.”

“And how did you find this out?” Allison asked skeptically.

“My former employer, the Commission and the Temps division,” Five explained, sounding exhausted from having to explain what he likely thought were unnecessary details, “I went to their headquarters and intercepted the message. I just know his name, but that’s enough.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, “but why should I prioritize this small lead over going home to see my daughter?” Hands on her hips, she glared at him, evidently frustrated by his lack of sympathy. “There are probably dozens of Harold Jenkins in the city, how is this valuable information?”

“Because it could help save her,” Five insisted, “alongside billions of other people.” Crossing his arms over his chest, he straightened himself out, mouth set in a straight line. “If the world is destroyed, your daughter dies,” he said harshly, not even flinching when Allison gasped, “and I’d like to meet her someday.”

It made the difference, and after a moment’s consideration, she nodded. “I’m in,” she said.

“Me too!” Klaus cheered, and Ben nodded in agreement. “Yay!”

“I’ll stay here and protect the house,” Luther promised. The others sent him questioning glances, but he didn’t shrink away from their stares. “If those assholes come looking for us here,” he explained, “I’ll protect mom and Pogo, and I’ll bring them to justice.” Turning towards Dave, he raised an eyebrow. “I suppose you’d want to stay with Klaus,” he said, “but if you wanted to remain here with me, it could be nice to get to know each other.”

Dave sent Klaus a worried glance, frowning, but Klaus nodded to reassure him that it was alright with him. “Okay,” he said, “I’ll stay.” Klaus knew it would be safer for him — until Vanya was trapped in her basement prison, nothing had happened at the mansion. Dave would be safe, which was all Klaus really cared about. “It could be nice, getting to know you guys better.”

“It’s settled, then.” Five seemed awfully smug, crossing his arms over his chest while Klaus winced. It was all working out slightly better than the last time, and with significantly less fighting, although everything was still going to shit. On the bright side, they hadn’t fought with Vanya about the concert.

“We’ll wait until Diego gets us the police report,” Allison said, “and then we’ll go as a group to whatever address he manages to come up with.”

“We’ll leave now,” Diego mumbled, racing out of the room, and he was suddenly grateful that he’d told him about the last timeline in full. With him on his side, they could speed up the original timeline, reach the conclusion of who he was before he had the chance to do any harm. “C’mon!” He called impatiently, and Allison, Ben, and Klaus hurried after him.

Jumping into the backseat, Klaus clicked his tongue at Ben while Diego sat in the driver’s seat, hands clenched around the steering wheel. He was glad Five hadn’t decided to come, and supposed he was probably heading to the hospital where Harold/Leonard would eventually end up. Klaus had no clue what had happened in the time in between, but he hoped that he’d catch him there if Klaus’ group couldn’t find him and Vanya.

“If we tell her everything, we can skip getting the police report,” Diego said, voice strained, but Klaus shook his head.

“I don’t wanna’ risk messing things up,” Klaus said, eyes flitting between his siblings.

“Wait, guys,” Allison said while the car jerked to a start, lifting her hands in a pausing gesture, “what does Diego want to tell me?” Ben shook his head, leaning forwards to pat her on the shoulder. Klaus wanted to tell him to buckle up, although he was already dead. They’d been in enough car wrecks for Klaus to know his brother wouldn’t fly out of the car if Diego suddenly hit the breaks.

“Trust me,” Ben pleaded, “you really don’t want to know.”

Allison dropped the subject soon after, and when they arrived at the police station, Diego rushed to hop out of the car, racing inside. In this timeline, he wasn’t a suspect for his girlfriend’s murder, which Klaus supposed made things easier. When he came back outside, it was with Beaman right on his heels, expression one of abject concern.

“I mean, seriously,” he said, and Ben and Klaus shifted over to make room for him in the backseat when Diego opened the door to shepherd him inside, “if this is the end of the world, you should be warning people! We could contact the government, have them—“

“They can’t do anything about this,” Diego snapped, his voice strained.

“Why’d you take him?” Klaus asked, and Beaman glanced over at him.

Squinting, he seemed confused before he managed to place him, expression one of recognition. “Isn’t this your brother?” He asked, tilting his head to the side in a manner reminiscent of a puppy. “The one who tried hiding a baggie of _heroin_ in his nose before we put him in court-ordered rehab, but ended up needing it _surgically removed?_ ”

Allison laughed in disbelief, and Klaus wanted to be swallowed up in the ground and killed. His other brothers seemed to be concealing their amused smiles, Ben tucking his head to the side, and Klaus huffed. “That was one time,” he squawked indignantly, “and I’m sober now!”

“Beaman threatened to call Eudora if I didn’t take him,” Diego explained, passing the police report to Allison before starting the car again, “and I didn’t want her involved in this.” Klaus could understand — he hadn’t wanted Dave to come with them either. He hadn’t even really wanted Allison to come with them, although she could handle herself. “So now, he’s coming with us.”

Allison gasped. “This is Vanya’s boyfriend,” she said, and Klaus pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. He’d taken a risk by not tracking down Harold and disabling him in the first place, and was paying for it now. “She told me his name was Leonard,” she continued, “but to call him _John_ around you, because you seemed to have a problem with men named Leonard, and apparently his name is Harold, now?”

“We’ll go to his house,” Diego said, jaw clenched so hard Klaus was afraid he would break a tooth.

“Without a warrant?” Beaman asked, voice breaking as he grew somewhat hysteric. He was like Ben before he’d died and mellowed out, high-strung and book-smart, and Klaus could already feel himself getting somewhat attached to the man, if only because of the vague resemblance. “That’s _illegal,_ Diego,” he insisted, and his brother took a sharper turn than necessary.

“I’m not a cop,” Diego insisted, “so I don’t play by your rules.”

They arrived at Harold Jenkins’ house, and while Klaus had hoped that he’d catch them there and be able to fix everything, Harold’s car wasn’t in the driveway and when they knocked, nobody answered. It was a small home in the suburbs, with a red and yellow facade and a cute porch, and Klaus found it hard to believe that it was the home where a serial killer lived.

“They’re probably at his grandmother’s house,” Diego said, shaking his head in frustration.

“We should break inside,” Allison suggested, and Klaus knew that it wouldn’t hurt to take the delay and do a proper search of the house. For all they knew, Harold was dead inside, or Vanya was tied up in the attic, or he was hiding a corpse inside of his fridge.

“Oh, _no,_ ” Beaman said, looking between Allison and Diego, “we’re not—“

Diego had already backed up, and, running forwards, he protected his neck with his hands and leapt through a window, keeping his head down. Klaus wasn’t about to mention the door was already unlocked. Scrambling to his feet on the other side, he opened it up easily, stepping aside for them to enter through the doorway. Beaman, utterly horrified, watched as they went inside without any qualms.

“The door was unlocked,” Allison said, arms folded across her chest while she glanced around the entryway.

“I liked Diego’s method better, sis’,” Klaus said, laughing wheezily.

“I’m gonna’ have to write one batshit crazy police report,” Beaman said, sounding faint. Klaus wished he could feel guilty, but it had been the man’s choice to tag along, when Diego had warned him things could get messy. “Is this,” he started, swallowing nervously as he finally stepped through the open door, “is this what every one of your guys’ missions was like?”

“ _Some_ of them,” Ben answered vaguely.

Klaus headed straight for the staircase with Allison, while Diego started checking the kitchen and dining room, looking for clues as to where they were going. Although it was likely that they’d gone to the cabin, Klaus wanted to make sure before going on a wild goose chase. Beaman was left hovering awkwardly in the living room, seeming out of his element in an illegally entered house, and Klaus wasn’t in a hurry to force him to be productive. Ben, meanwhile, was checking with the local spirits for any information they might’ve had on where they went.

“Have you checked the attic?” Klaus asked when he was finished searching the bedrooms. There hadn’t been any sign of them there, although Harold’s toothbrush and all the underwear in the house had been missing, meaning that he’d packed a bag and left with the intention of being gone for a long, long while. “I mean,” he said, “there could be some creepy serial killer shit up there.”

And when they climbed up the ladder and into the attic, there was. He hadn’t been in the house the first time around, and hadn’t witnessed the murder shrine or the creepy memorabilia, but now, it was just as disturbing as he’d imagined it would be. On a small cardboard display hand painted with their names, all of the faces on their action figures were burned off. In the spot where The Monocle would be, there was an empty space, and he thought back to the display cases at the mansion, with its action figures and comic books and antique toys, and took it as a sign that Harold hadn’t been to the Academy just yet.

“This is,” Beaman started, unsure of what to say, “disturbing.”

“This wasn’t about Vanya,” Allison said, “this was about us.”

“Yeah, some big revenge plot,” Diego scoffed.

“He’s _dangerous,_ ” Allison said, covering her hand with her mouth. She seemed mortified, and when Diego started taking photos, Beaman started doing the same. “Oh, God,” she mumbled, “Vanya is alone with him. _Fuck._ ”

There was the sound of a phone ringing, and Klaus released a startled curse, not having gotten used to wireless cellphones yet. Fishing the decisive of of her pocket, Allison answered it, holding the device to her head. “Hello?” She asked, and there was mumbling on the other end of the line before her eyes widened in shock. “Oh, yes,” she said, pulling her bag higher onto her shoulder, “we’ll— I’ll be right there, alright.”

Hanging up, she took her own pictures before she started tugging them towards the exit. “What’s wrong?” Ben asked, and she guided them to the car.

“I’ll drop you off at home,” she said, and they all hopped into the vehicle. Turning it on, she climbed into the driver’s seat before Diego had a chance, and while their brother grew up his hands in frustration, he didn’t complain, getting into the backseat while Beaman climbed through the passenger door. “Five collapsed in that hospital he was stalking,” she explained, “bullet wound, and I was the emergency contact he gave.”

“Shit,” Klaus cursed, rubbing at his forehead. In the eleven months since he’d experienced the apocalypse, he’d forgotten that Five was injured during whatever violent incident he’d caused at the Commission.

“So I’ll drop you off,” she continued, “I’ll visit Five, and then I’ll go after Vanya.”

“Nope, you’re not,” Klaus hurried to say. She gave him a skeptical glance, brow furrowing, and he blanched, hurrying to correct his statement. “I mean,” he said, “you’re not going after them alone.” Her frown continued to deepen. “Like you said, Harold is dangerous, and I know you’re competent at fighting but I’m the lookout! I’ll watch your six!”

After a moment of silence, she shook her head in exasperation. “Fine,” she said turning right, “you and Ben will come with me. Diego, you and Beaman work on trying to track down those creeps in the masks.”

When they finally dropped off Diego and Beaman at the mansion, they left immediately for the hospital while Klaus tried to work out in his head how to ditch her there. It wasn’t that he didn’t think she was competent — it was just that the last time she’d confronted Vanya, she’d gotten her throat sliced, almost died, inspired Luther to lock Vanya up, and then the apocalypse had happened. Klaus had developed a relationship with her based on respect and communication, and he was confident that would keep him safe.

“Are you going to tell me about the secret you’ve been keeping?” She asked, raising an elegantly plucked brow, and Klaus rolled his eyes, kicking his feet up onto the dashboard. He may have wanted his brother to buckle up, but it made him too claustrophobic. “I mean,” she continued, “Diego clearly already knows.”

“Daddy dearest may have given me a hint about how the world will end,” Klaus lied, not meeting her gaze, “but I’m trying to keep it on the down-low. Too many cooks in the kitchen, all that.”

“So you’re keeping secrets now?” Allison asked, and he shrugged. Scoffing, she shook her head in exasperation, hands tightening on her steering wheel as she barked harder than necessary. He flew forwards, bracing himself with his hands and wincing at the way it jarred his messed up shoulder, and she looked slightly guilty about it. “I thought we were communicating now,” she said, and he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“We are,” he assured her, “but not about this.” She stayed quiet, starting the car again when the light turned green, and he put his hand on her shoulder gently. “I need you to trust me,” he pleaded, staring at her, and when she finally met his eyes, she quickly looked away.

After another long moment of silence, she sighed. “Fine,” she said tiredly, “I trust you, Klaus.”

He nodded, relieved. “Good,” he said, “because all of our lives depend on it.”

When they finally arrived at the hospital at nearly two in the morning after a long night of nonstop driving, they rushed inside, and Allison was immediately at the front desk, asking where his hospital room was while Klaus loitered at the entrance. When she’d gotten Five’s location and paid for his medical bills, she came to find him, looking tired and worse for wear.

“C’mon,” Allison said, nodding towards the elevator, “let’s go see him.”

Klaus knew that he needed to leave — he didn’t know how long he had to locate Vanya and Harold before he managed to convince her to end the world, but he didn’t want to find out. “Sorry, Allie,” he said, running a hand through his loose curls and sighing exaggeratedly, “but me, in a hospital room? Surrounded by prescription painkillers?” Shaking his head, he tried to look conflicted and sorrowful, although he was mentally applauding himself on the Oscars-worthy acting job. Maybe if they survived, he could become an actor. “I’ve been sober for a year,” he said, “but I don’t want to risk the temptation.”

“Oh, Klaus,” she pityingly, leaning forwards to hug him. Subtly, he slipped his hand into her pocket, a trick learned from years living on the streets. When they parted, she smiled softly, backing up towards the elevator. “I’ll come back down in a little while,” she assured him, “just long enough to make sure Five’s okay, and then we’ll go find Vanya.”

“Alright,” Klaus said, “see you, Allison.”

When they walked back out to the car, Klaus shook the keys he’d pickpocketed off of their sister, and Ben rolled his eyes, exhausted by his antics. “We could’ve waited until she came back,” he pointed out, hopping into the passenger seat while Klaus got into the driver’s seat, “and just taken her with us. You don’t even have a license, Klaus.”

“I’ve driven before,” he scoffed.

“Yeah, illegally while high as a kite,” Ben pointed out, “and besides, what if you got pulled over?” Klaus didn’t deign it important to answer, starting up the car and pulling out of the parking space. He almost backed into a tree, although he successfully managed to drive forwards jerkily and enter the road from the parking lot of the hospital. “Diego can’t bail your sorry ass out of a holding cell this time, dude,” he insisted, leaning forwards to rest his chin on his hand, “and if you got arrested, who else would stop Vanya? Allison doesn’t have her car.”

“It has to be me who takes care of this,” Klaus said, merging right without turning on his blinker. Someone behind him honked noisily, and he gnawed on his bottom lip, avoiding looking at his brother. “I don’t know why I’m the only one who remembers,” he confessed, adjusting his sweaty hands on the steering wheel, “but it’s a sign that I have to fix things.”

“I hope you’re right, Klaus,” Ben sighed, leaning backwards. It would be a long morning of driving ahead of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Too exhausted to write a proper note, but thanks again for all of your support! We’re in the endgame now.
> 
> Next time, Klaus and Vanya have an important conversation.


	17. Inno patriottico, MS 81: Tema: Allegro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klaus and Vanya talk, and nothing goes right.

_Only You_ by The Platters blasted loudly from the radio of Diego’s car, and Klaus was pleasantly warm from the car heater that he’d turned up to the highest heat and power. He mouthed the lyrics in the silence, and while he was nervous for what the future would bring, he knew that his worrying wouldn’t stop anything. There was a ranging storm, and it was raining so hard that Klaus could barely see the road, and with his nonexistent driving skills, he knew he had to drive slowly and carefully to avoid getting in an accident. He knew that he himself would be fine, but he couldn’t be so certain about the vehicle, and he needed it if he would get to Harold’s creepy cabin in the woods on time.

“You really should’ve brought back-up,” Ben said for the third time that morning, and although Klaus knew he was just concerned for his safety, he was growing increasingly frustrated. It wouldn’t be long before the sun started rising, and he wanted to get there as soon as he possibly could, before Harold could hurt her more than he might’ve already.

“Doesn’t matter,” Klaus said, brushing off his concerns. Dodging around a fallen tree that had toppled into the road, he ran directly into a car heading in the opposite direction, dodging just in time by bouncing back to his original lane. His driving skills had admittedly been worse than he’d expected.

Running into traffic had been unexpected, and as the sun rose, they passed by a diner with police gathered outside of it. Klaus made note to check back in later during the day. There was a brick wall that had collapsed, and two vehicles with sizable dents in their sides, and Klaus wondered if it had been Vanya who caused the damage. There were people being questioned, and he cursed underneath his breath, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible, because if he got checked for a license, he was screwed.

Somehow, he managed to escape the notice of the police, and when he finally pulled up the driveway of Harold’s cabin, he noticed immediately that his car wasn’t there. After briefly surveying the property, checking through the windows and making a brief, nerve-wracking foray into the woods, he finally returned to the vehicle, deciding that Harold and Vanya were likely already at the hospital, and he’d completely missed them. If he’d been around to tell Allison to show her the photos she took of the murder shrine in his attic, maybe they could’ve prevented everything from happening a second time.

“All we can do now is head back and hope we catch them when they’re checking out,” Ben said helplessly, and Klaus wished that he’d asked more questions about what had happened at the cabin. Allison couldn’t talk, sure, but she could write,and he could’ve asked where they were and at what times of the day. How he could’ve predicted the situation he was in, however, he didn’t know, and so he objectively knew that he shouldn’t be shouldering the blame. “I mean,” he continued, “he’ll be pretty noticeable, with the missing eye and all. Maybe Five will even wake up and give him an ass-kicking.”

That would be a sight to behold — their physically thirteen year old brother beating up a grown man for causing the apocalypse. He’d probably monologue with the eyeball, and Klaus already regretted missing whatever confrontation theoretically happened between them. Would they have battled to the death in their hospital gowns?

Hopping back into the car, Klaus and Ben arrived at the hospital again soon after, and Klaus insisted on parking in a lot at a supermarket down the road so Allison wouldn’t spot the car. He walked up the flight of stairs, checking each floor systematically, and when came to the area Five’s hospital room was, he quickly hid himself, making Ben invisible and intangible again. It was useful, having the ability to make him corporeal at will, and he was glad he’d spent so much time developing the ability.

“I know,” Allison said over the phone, “he just disappeared. How long until you’ll be here, Diego?” She paused, listening to what their brother was saying over the line, before shaking her head and pinching her nose. “Seven hours? Are you serious? You have dad’s car, and I know how you drive, so can’t you—“

“ _Hurry up,_ Klaus,” Ben hissed, pulling him out of his listening to Allison’s conversation. He snuck past the hospital room by ducking behind a supply cart, and while the doctors gave him some strange glances, nobody made a move to stop him from sneaking around. “We need to find them quickly,” he insisted, and Klaus agreed.

It wasn’t too long before he spotted them — Harold had that white cloth eyepatch over his eye, his mouth shaped into a frown while he wrote on a clipboard, and Vanya bounced her foot anxiously. A nurse watched them, waiting while he filled out the form, before taking it. Gently grabbing Vanya by the elbow, he guided her out, and Klaus pulled at his hair.

“He already has her,” he said through gritted teeth, and Ben shook his head.

“Let’s follow them,” Ben suggested, but Klaus shook his head.

“It’ll be awhile before I could catch her alone,” he said, turning around, “and I’d rather not run into Harold.” He wasn’t confident enough in his self control to be certain he’d be able to refrain from maiming the man — if he did, he couldn’t be sure that it wouldn’t be its own trigger for Vanya causing the apocalypse. Klaus didn’t want to traumatize his sister, either. “Let’s go find out if there were any survivors from the diner accident last night,” he suggested instead, and Ben nodded after a moment’s hesitation.

“If you’re sure,” Ben said, his voice conflicted.

He made quick work of locating someone to ask about the incident, cornering her and making his move quickly. “What happened at the diner last night?” He asked a nurse, stepping in front of her, and she frowned.

“There was an accident,” she said, “although I’m not legally allowed to tell you more.”

“How many people were injured?” Klaus asked, cutting her off when she attempted walking down the hallway, and she frowned, backing away from him with a worried expression. He felt bad, although the impending apocalypse made him care less than he would otherwise. “Two? Three?” Klaus asked, and she shook her head. He could read body language, had developed his ability to read people while he was out on the streets, and he could tell by the way her face twitched and her lips tightened that he’d hit the nail on its head. “Three, then,” he said, “and how many did you receive?”

“Just one,” she said, immediately covering her mouth with her hand as if realizing she’d let it slip, and he nodded. Vanya had killed two people, and injured another, and he had to her before she ended the world again. It was all he needed to know, having the knowledge that she’d already activated her powers, and while he didn’t know how Harold had known about her medication without the journal, it didn’t matter.

“Thank you!” He sang, blowing a kiss as he turned to leave the hospital.

He nearly ran straight into Allison, although he successfully ducked around a corner, and he ended up having to take an alternate route downstairs. When he finally reached his borrowed vehicle in the supermarket parking lot, he slammed his head into the steering wheel in frustration, releasing a guttural scream of anger.

“Klaus,” Ben said, “it will be alright.”

“Easy for you to say,” he whined, slamming his forehead down again. He was exhausted, wishing he could just give up and call it a day, but the apocalypse was getting closer and closer to happening and he was running in circles, doing exactly what he knew Allison had done before.

“You’ve done this all before,” Ben tried to reassure him.

Laughing breathily, he shook his head. “Yeah, and the _world ended,_ ” he pointed out, refusing to lift his head off the steering wheel, and Ben huffed in exasperation.

Glancing out of the corner of his eye, he looked at his brother — skin unhealthily pale, dark hair slightly mussed, bags underneath his almond shaped eyes, and he wished there was something he could do about it. Ben was always taking care of him, but it was impossible for him to take care of him in return. Ben would always be reminiscent of an exhausted teenager, and though the wounds were gone, having faded with time, he was dead. It was easy to forget, especially now that he had his powers so well controlled, but he was deceased, and didn’t need to breathe or eat or sleep, although he looked like he desperately needed it.

“Hey, Ben,” Klaus said, reaching out and grabbing his elbow, “I’m sorry.”

Brows furrowing in confusion, he frowned, glancing between him and the hand placed on his arm. “What for?” He asked, tilting his head to the side. The question was asked with mild concern, as if there could be an ulterior motive for him asking, and Klaus turned away, focusing on the afternoon horizon. “If you’re apologizing for being a dumbass,” he said, and Klaus nearly laughed, lips curving upwards at the edges, “apology not accepted.”

“No, it’s just, ugh—“ Groaning in frustration, Klaus bashed his head against the steering wheel a third and final time before sitting up in his seat, leaning back and pressing his head against the headrest. Hand flexing on Ben’s arm, his brother patiently waited for him to continue, sitting quietly as he worked through what to say in his head. “I left without you,” Klaus finally said, “twelve, thirteen years ago. I ran away and I just _abandoned_ you there.”

“Klaus, it’s seriously fine.” Ben seemed almost amused by his apology, but Klaus wanted him to know how serious he was. He’d left home to live jumping between houses and sexual partners, stealing and prostituting himself to buy drugs and ignore the ghosts — Ben hadn’t fit into what he thought he needed, as much as he wanted him to. He couldn’t let Ben watch him slowly kill himself with drugs and sex and alcohol, but if he’d taken him with him, he’d at least be alive, and if Klaus had stayed, maybe he wouldn’t have died alone.

Klaus didn’t think there was a worse way to go — alone. He’d died in bathtubs and ambulances and on the streets alone, sure, but he’d always been confident he could come back. To die alone and have it be permanent, to know that there was nobody to tałk to and nobody there for comfort, was the worst.

“It doesn’t have to be fine,” Klaus said, “and you can forgive me if you want, that’s your decision to make.” Releasing Ben’s arm and turning on the ignition, he started up the car, pulling out of his parking space to start down the road towards the cabin again. It would be another long drive, and it occurred to him that since he knew how to keep the ghosts away, he could potentially receive his license. “I just never apologized for leaving you there,” he continued, “not even at the funeral, and I damn well _should_ have.”

Ben was quiet, and when Klaus finally grew nervous enough to glance at him, his expression was contemplative. “I never resented you for that,” he said slowly and cautiously, leaning on his elbow, “just for throwing your life away afterwards. Everyone grieves differently.”

There had been a time after his sixth or seventh overdose in front of Ben that his brother had blown up on him, saying that his life was being wasted on him rather than on Ben. He’d been angry, and said that Klaus should’ve died instead, and he’d never said anything similar since because Klaus knew he felt like shit afterwards. They hadn’t spoken for three days, and then Ben had come back and said he was sorry and admitted that he didn’t want to be alone, and it wasn’t Klaus’ fault that he had to deal with the dead, that he could understand why he wanted to chase them away because he could see them, too, and he would do anything to drive them away himself. They hadn’t talked about it since, and Klaus had mostly forgotten.

In a way, that had been Ben grieving. He’d only been dead for seven or eight months, and it was an adjustment period, to say the least. It had taken six months before he resembled his brother, and several more before he looked as he did now, wearing normal, clean clothes that weren’t bloodstained and ruined with a smooth, scarless face and hands with unbroken fingers. Klaus would’ve been pretty pissed, too.

“Again,” Klaus said, “I’m sorry. I am so, _so_ sorry, Ben.”

“Apology accepted,” Ben said, choking up. Klaus pretended he didn’t see the way he dried his eyes.

When he arrived at the cabin, he took care to park far enough away by a nearby lake to make the vehicle’s presence seem completely unrelated. Hiding beneath the porch outside, he waited until Harold left in his car before trying to approach the building, although it was the late afternoon by the time Vanya was left alone. He could hear the soft sound of her violin through the door, and he hesitated before knocking.

“Ben,” he hissed, shooting him away, “go get Diego and Allison, tell them to come straight here.” Ben leveled a questioning stare at him, and Klaus tried shooing him away again. “He should be nearing the hospital soon,” he continued, “and it’s only a fifteen, twenty minute drive away from here. If you get him now, he’ll be able to come and pick us up.”

“I shouldn’t leave you alone,” Ben said, but he shook his head.

“I’ll be fine,” Klaus assured him. He knew to keep Vanya calm, and he was immortal regardless. If anything happened, he wasn’t truly in danger of being killed, at least permanently. His sister, however, could be traumatized for life by it. Nervously, he lifted a hand to his throat, swallowing. “Please,” he begged him, “just go get them. They need to be here.”

“This is a bad idea,” Ben said, shaking his head as he disappeared.

Klaus was left alone in the cold, dark night, the porch empty and the only sounds being crickets and Vanya’s playing, and he suddenly wasn’t certain about how wise his plan was. Ensuring that he kept his mental grip on Ben, keeping him corporeal so that he could talk with their siblings, he took a shuddery breath, closing his eyes. Gently, he knocked on the door, and the playing stopped as his sister cursed underneath her breath and started shuffling towards the door.

“Coming,” his sister called through the door, sounding irritated, but when she opened it, her expression shifted into one of surprise. She smiled hesitantly at the sight of him, lips twitching upwards as her shoulders relaxed. “Klaus,” she started, dumbfounded, “why are you out here?”

“I could ask you the same question,” he said, and when Vanya stepped aside, he walked through the doorway.

The cabin was just as he remembered it from when they found Allison bleeding out on the floor — creepy hunting trophies on the walls, plush antique furniture, pictures of an unhappy looking boy with a gruff older man. Hugging himself, he shivered, wishing that he’d brought a jacket rather than just wearing the neon palm tree tank top he’d grown somewhat fond of. Vanya’s eyes lingered on his tattoos and Dave’s dog tags, gesturing towards the couch, and Klaus willingly took a seat while she settled next to him.

“Not that I’m not happy you’re here,” she said, crossing her feet at the ankles as she fidgeted with the hem of her shirt, “but how did you find me here? This place is pretty far out of the way.”

“Uh, about that,” he said, wincing, and Vanya’s jaw dropped.

“Did you _follow_ us here?” She asked, offended, and Klaus knew he had immediately messed up. He hadn’t been talking to her for five minutes, and he already had managed to offend her and indirectly imply he was stalking her, which was technically true.

“Allison had some... _concerns about Leonard,_ ” Klaus said hesitantly, watching as the frown lines around his sister’s face deepened, “and it turns out, well.” As he started to stand up, she tracked his movements, brow furrowed and eyes hardened. She looked different from the shy woman she usually was, filled with an angry sort of confidence, and it made Klaus justas proud as it made him nervous. “We should talk about this in the car.”

“We can talk about it right here,” Vanya said, and Klaus sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, worrying the flesh until he could taste copper. Hugging herself around the waist, she seemed like she wanted to back down, but also like she was determined to continue the conversation.

“Diego got his criminal records,” Klaus said, ripping the bandaid off, “and his real name is _Harold Jenkins,_ not Leonard Peabody. Text them if you want the, uh, photographic proof.” Her expression turned confused, some of the anger melting away. Klaus was fairly certain that Vanya trusted him and his opinion, so he figured she knew he wasn’t lying about that. “He murdered his father,” he continued, and she shook her head.

“It’s not possible,” she said, laughing a little as she pressed the heel of her palm into her forehead. Nervously, she continued fiddling with her clothes, a nervous tic of sorts. “That’s, ah, it cant be true. No.”

“Check your phone,” Klaus said, slightly frustrated. If she’d simply looked at her messages, they wouldn’t be having the conversation they were having. “Allison sent you pictures of the murder shrine in his attic,” he explained, “and maybe the police record, too.”

“I lost it three days ago,” Vanya stuttered, and he took long, deliberate breaths, hoping for Harold’s sake that he didn’t simply steal it to prevent her from communicating with them on the weird camping trip. “No, it’s just,” she said, trying to work through it in her head, “he _couldn’t._ ”

“He’s missing an eye now, right?” Klaus asked.

“How did you know that?” She retorted, deflecting the question.

“The prosthetic eyeball, the one Luther was holding,” he said, watching as horrified realization bloomed on her delicate, tired features, “was traced back to the hospital he was treated at. In a couple of days, it could belong to him.”

“Stop,” Vanya said, and it sounded closer to pleading than an order. She’d shrunk in on herself, confidence diminished, and he would feel bad if her boyfriend wasn’t literally the one who triggered the apocalypse. “You’re just trying to make me jealous, or something,” she insisted, clutching her head in her hands, “and Leonard said you might try pulling something like this.”

“The evidence lines up, Vanya,” he said, voice strained.

Sucking in a sharp breath, she shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut. “Why can’t I just be happy, for once?” Vanya croaked weakly, hugging herself around the waist. Standing in front of him, Klaus wanted to embrace her, but he knew she wouldn’t react well to it. “The one time somebody cares for me because of who I am,” she said, “and he ends up just like everyone else.”

“Vanya, he just liked you for your powers,” Klaus said, cringing at how harsh it sounded, “but I—“

“How did you know about my powers?” She asked sharply, suddenly looking up at him. Lips pursed, she took several steps backwards, suddenly wary of his presence. Klaus knew he’d messed up.

“It’s a long story,” Klaus said weakly, “and one I can explain later—“

“Tell me now,” she insisted, standing her ground. Hands clenching into fists, she swallowed nervously, seeming to waiver before committing to making him explain it to her. “I think that I deserve to know,” she said slowly, _warily,_ and he nodded in agreement, unable to really disagree.

“And you do, and I’ll tell you later,” he promised, “but I can’t...”

He looked at her, the way she seemed so determined but so nervous, and he knew that once he told her, he’d have to tell the rest of them. It had been something he was carrying on his shoulders for far too long, the fact that it was Vanya who caused the apocalypse, and while he couldn’t be sure how she would react to knowing that

“I’ve seen the apocalypse before,” he confessed at last, to the fifth person he’d told about it. Immediately, Klaus felt relieved, knowing that he didn’t need to keep it a secret from her. “I know how it happened,” he continued, wringing his hands in his lap, “because I lived through it. Five sent all of us back in time, but I’m the only one who can remember.”

“How much of the past week has been based on _lies?_ ” She scoffed, and as objects in the room started to rattle, he knew he should backtrack quickly before her powers freaked out. Klaus knew how it felt to have unpredictable abilities based on emotional states, and he knew that she wasn’t trying to intimidate him. “You kept doing nice things for me,” she continued, “but were you just trying to manipulate me? Does everyone know _except_ me?”

“I kept this a secret from everyone except Ben and Diego,” he promised her, and while she still seemed bitter and hurt, nothing was shaking anymore.

“I told you about Ben, yeah?” Klaus asked, leaning forwards. Gently grabbing her wrist, she didn’t pull away, which he took as a good sign. She was angry, but that was because she was hurt. “You didn’t have to find out about that before I told you,” he reminded her, “and that’s because I trusted you to believe me when I told you about it.”

Nodding, Vanya wetted her lips, looking down at the floor. Her posture had relaxed, shoulders drooping as her spine became less rigid. “And you tried warning me about, um, Leonard,” she reluctantly agreed.

“Yes! Exactly,” he concurred, standing up. Releasing his sister, Klaus smiled as reassuringly as he could, hoping that Ben would come back soon to help him keep Vanya calm. If there was one person she’d always trust, it was Ben. “And now,” he continued, “I’m telling you about the time travel, the— well, the alternate timeline, all of the important stuff.”

“You are,” Vanya breathed, and the remaining tension was immediately drained out of her body. Eyes closing, she took several steps backwards, slumping against the wall next to the door. “Klaus, you’ve,” she started, glancing down towards the umbrella tattooed on the inside of her wrist, eyes flickering towards his ankle, “you’ve included me in everything.” Covering her mouth with her hand, he could see tears starting to gather in her eyelashes, her brows furrowing in frustration. “Why?”

“Because you’re my sister, and I love you,” Klaus answered, shrugging, “and while it would’ve been easy to just, I don’t know—“ Gesturing vaguely, he tried to emphasize his utter _disgust,_ only to give up and drop his hand stop his sides. “We couldn’t just medicate you and lock you up for the rest of your life,” he finished lamely, “because it wouldn’t have been fair to you.”

“Klaus,” she said, her voice thick with emotion, and he nodded, knowing what she wanted to say. She nodded back, a smile flickering across her face, and something small flew through an open window.

It was a dart, the stereotypical kind with feathers at the end and a long, sharp nose, and he pulled it out after a moment, staring at its form. Looking up at his sister, she seemed confused and concerned, glancing between him and the dart held in his hands. When he tried to peer through the window, he could see a shadowy figure into the brush outside, and in his shock, he almost called out to them.

There was a burst of pain, then nothing as his fingertips quickly grew numb and fuzzy like radio static. Putting his hand against his chest, he knew there was something wrong, but his brain wasn’t moving as fast as the rest of his body, couldn’t catch up with what happened. He tried connecting the dots, putting the puzzle pieces together, but they were turning to sand in his hands and falling apart just as easily. Klaus made a wounded noise, something offended, then looked up from the red spreading across the tank top that he had _liked, thank you very much._ Vanya’s mouth was gaping, eyes wide in horror while she stumbled backwards in slow motion, and a part of him wondered what the issue was while the other already knew.

His knees buckled, and the world spun as he fell to the ground.

Klaus could see there was blood on his hands when he raised them, and he realized that he hadn’t felt when he connected wth the ground. The world was distant, numb, and he didn’t know what that dart had contained but whatever it was, he could feel his grip on Ben disappear entirely. Vanya clutched at his shoulders, was screaming something indistinguishable with a reddened face and tears falling from her eyes, and Klaus tried comforting her, putting his hand on her face and her shoulder, but it only smeared red across her. While he made an attempt at saying he was fine, that everything would be okay, he couldn’t breath, and blood bubbled from his lips and spilled across his cheek before pooling underneath his head.

Harold was grabbing at Vanya and trying to pull her away as she tried to hold onto him, where he came from Klaus didn’t know, but despite her resistance she eventually gave in, hand covering her mouth in horror as she disappeared through the doorway. Every breath that Klaus tried to take was wet and wheezy, and he’d drowned himself enough times in the bathtub to recognize that he was suffocating in his own blood.

The world grew dark and spotty around the edges while he lost consciousness, and he didn’t know how long he’d waited without anyone coming, only that he hoped that Diego and Allison or even fucking _Beaman_ would come and at least sit next to him and hold his hand. Dave was probably at the house still, and he had just enough awareness to know it was a good thing he wouldn’t see him with a gaping hole in his chest from what he now assumed was a shotgun, or something of a similar caliber. He was alone, with no ghosts and no the drugs and not even Ben at his side, and that killed him just as much as the bullet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m stuck at home with food poisoning, and so I decided today would be a good day to finish and post this. Sorry for the cliffhanger — had to have some level of suspense!
> 
> I’ve been really appreciative of all the support, and I thank you all for sticking through 70,000+ words of unapologetically self-indulgent bullshit. I once read that if you write what you need rather than what you think others want, there will always be somebody who needed the same message, the same story, and I suppose that enough of you needed this kind of story to be willing to read it!
> 
> Three more chapters to go — the number is set, now, and the countdown has begun.
> 
> Next time, the family goes to a concert.


	18. Sonata for Viola and Piano No.2 in E flat, Op.120 No.2: 2. Appassionato, ma non troppo allegro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hargreeves attend Vanya’s concert, and things _still_ find a way to get worse.

It was the first time in Klaus’ memory that he didn’t wake after a dream.

Dragging himself into a sitting position while pulling an oxygen mask off his face, he saw Dave sitting on a chair his feet, fast asleep with his face buried in his arms. Frown lines softened, body relaxed, he must’ve been with Klaus for however long he was unconscious. Ben was nowhere to be found, and neither were any of his other ghosts, which was slightly strange, but when he realized he had an IV drip connected to him, it made more sense. Judging by the tube sticking out of the side of his ribcage, the stitched up wound on his breastbone, and the ache deep in his chest, he had at least one collapsed lung. Diego had suffered one when they were fourteen, and that had been an ordeal. Peeling off the tape on his arm, he didn’t flinch when the needle slipped out of his flesh, turning off the IV drip and ventilator with the press of a button. After pressing a brief kiss to Dave’s forehead, tossing a blanket over him and hoping the house wouldn’t cave in while he was gone, he stood, bare feet connecting with the cold tiles of the infirmary floor.

“Those fuckers _drugged_ me!” Klaus grumbled indignantly, and now he knew why he’d been dead in the original timeline. Without Five, he never would have gone to Vietnam, never would have met Dave, and never would have found a reason to get sober. Apparently, his regeneration couldn’t work with drugs in his system, much like his other abilities — he was probably using when he died the first time, which meant he wouldn’t have been resurrected and Five would have found him permanently killed. He assumed it was the Commission who shot him, as he doubted Harold would be capable of shooting confidently enough to get him like that.

He knew exactly where he’d find the others, but that didn’t fill him with any less dread. Making his way to the basement kitchen, having to cling to the bannister and almost falling several times, he turned left into the hallway they never were allowed to go through as kids, finding the door at the end unlocked. He stumbled through the doorway, dragging himself towards the elevator, and when he finally entered, shoving his thumb roughly into the button for the sub-level he knew he wanted, he collapsed to the floor, exhausted.

Before he could reach the bottom, he pulled himself to his feet with a shaky wheeze, winded by the simple movement and clutching at the bandaged wound in his chest. He wasn’t sure why God couldn’t close it up for him like she did the bullet to the head, but he was alive, so who was he to complain? He felt numb as the elevator doors opened, revealing the same exact fight he remembered from the last time they went through this shit-show. Rolling his eyes dramaticallly, he stepped forwards, and before they could notice him barefoot in his flowing white medical gown, he’d ripped the door to Vanya’s prison off its hinges with an easy flick of his wrist. It went colliding into the concrete wall with a satisfying crunch and enough force to make cracks spiderweb from its impact point, and suddenly, the attention was on him.

Luther, Five, Diego, and Allison were gaping in shock, eyes wide, while Vanya remained still as a statue, face wet but arms dropping to her sides from where they’d been pounding in the door that had previously been in front of her. When nobody moved, too shocked by his sudden display of power, he stepped forwards with his hands raised in an open invitation for a hug. She fell into his embrace without a fight, a sob erupting from her throat while he cupped the back of her head, pressing gentle kisses against her forehead. “Let’s get ready for your concert,” he murmured to her, and to his surprise, she nodded into his shoulder, now just as wet as her cheeks.

“W-wait,” Luther said, trying to step forwards, but he held up his ‘goodbye’ palm, not so subtly using Vanya as support while they made their way towards the exit, his sister continuing to cry into his shoulder.

“You’ve done enough, _Reginald Junior,_ ” he snarked, and as they stepped into the elevator, he had just enough time before the doors closed to see the horrified expression of regret on Luther’s face. Oddly, it didn’t bring him the satisfaction he thought it would. Holding Vanya close, rubbing her back and peppering kisses against the crown of her head, he closed his eyes, feeling strongly like taking a nap, although they wouldn’t have the time between then and her performance. “It’s gonna’ be alright, Vanya,” he assured her, but she shook her head, tangled brown hair swishing.

“I’m _sorry,_ Klaus,” she sobbed, “I’m sorry, _I’m sorry,_ you were _shot_ and, and I—“

“You’re not to blame. We’ll talk after your concert,” he assured her, and when the doors opened again, he guided her towards the main landing. The stairs were difficult, but despite her emotional incapacitation, she still helped him scale them. “For now,” he said, “let’s just celebrate your big night.”

They arrived in the entry hall, and he steered her towards their first stop of the night before the concert. Moving across the courtyard through the light drizzle, they entered the medical room, where he found Dave still fast asleep. Shaking him awake, the man looked at him with bleary eyes before tugging him down into a tight embrace, Vanya releasing him and stepping backwards. “I should’ve known better than to think I’d lost you,” Dave mumbled into his shoulder, voice thick with emotions and exhaustion, and Klaus laughed weakly, squeezing him back before tugging him to his feet.

“We’ve got a concert to attend,” he said, “so we need to go get ready.”

The journey to his bedroom would’ve been just as difficult, but Dave had simply bent over and scooped Klaus up below the back and knees, eliciting a small giggle from Vanya, who was looking noticeably less distressed. “So, Vanya,” Dave said, looking at his sister, “what instrument do you play?”

“Violin,” she mumbled. They reached the foot of the red staircase, starting to scale it. Klaus thought he heard voices in the living room, but he ignored them, having grown accustomed to filtering them out. More than likely it was just their siblings, discussing what to do with him and Vanya with the knowledge that he wasn’t about to let them touch her. That, and he destroyed the only box capable of suppressing her abilities.

“My sister played cello,” Dave said absently, patting his face, and he nodded along, not having realized he was drifting off. The door to his bedroom was opened, and they stepped inside, Dave turning the lights on with his elbow in the absence of a free hand.

Vanya gathered up her clothing with trembling hands while Klaus was gently lowered onto his bed, the soft mattress much easier on his achy bones than the stiff surface of the gurney in the medical office. She gave him a shaky smile, clothing gathered up in her arms. “I’ll go get changed,” she murmured, and when she’d left, Klaus pushed Dave out the door and towards the bathroom where she was heading.

Dave sent him a questioning look, but he gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Make sure she doesn’t get taken again by the others,” he clarified, worried that they might try to pull a stunt like that, and his boyfriend nodded, kissing him one last time before leaving the room and shutting the door behind him. Klaus objectively knew that Dave stood no chance in a fight against all of his siblings working together, but he’d probably have enough time to give him a warning and allow Klaus the opportunity to step in and save her himself.

Peeling off the hospital gown, he looked down at the bloody mass of bandages covering his chest, knowing that there were two recently collapsed lungs underneath it all. He was lucky to have survived, and if not for mom being capable of complex surgical procedures and his incompetence at dying, he was afraid as to what would’ve happened to the rest of them. If it had been one of his other siblings trying to change the past by confronting Vanya in Allison’s place, they would’ve died in minutes from the wound, and there would’ve been nobody left to free Vanya and stop her from breaking out of her cage.

“I am a really lucky bastard,” he wheezed weakly, grabbing a frilly white dress shirt and a pair of black dress pants from his closet. Choosing a long, orange coat, he slipped it on, stepping into his leather boots and hoping it would be considered formal enough. “Such a lucky, lucky, _lucky_ Klaus,” he sang to himself while he grabbed a knit blanket for comfort, rubbing the remaining sleep out of his eyelids with the heel of his palm. Humming softly, he paused at his desk, looking at the jewelry box, and after a moment of consideration he flipped the latches and opened it.

There was an ornate mirror, and a variety of bracelets. Some necklaces were inside, elegant pendants on gold and silver chains, and there was everything from pearl earrings to an elegant emerald brooch. It was something personal, a remnant of something that had been forgotten long before he was born, and as he lifted up the set of matching rings, he thumbed over the jewelry, wiping away dust that had gathered on the metal. When he looked on the inside, ‘ _time matters not_ ’ and ‘ _fates intertwined_ ’ were engraved on the inside in elegant cursive, and he squinted, trying to get a better look at the handwriting.

“Number Four,” a gravelly male voice said behind him, and Klaus startled, nearly dropping the rings as he spun around sharply. The backs of his knees hitting his bed, he tumbled backwards, almost smashing his head against his windowsill. The surprise made his chest hurt like a bitch, his heart was coming close to beating out of his ribcage, and when he looked at the individual who had spoken, his blood ran cold.

“Oh,” Klaus croaked, wiping at his sweaty forehead, “so _now_ you decide it’s time to pay a visit. Great.”

He looked just as he had in life — an ironed black suit, neatly groomed facial hair, a monocle covering his left eye — and for a moment, Klaus was a teenager again, Reginald in his room to deliver him a scolding for one misstep or another, or to drag him out to the mausoleum for ‘extra training.’ Expression somber, mouth pressed into a thin line, he straightened his tie, proceeding to drop his hands down to his sides stiffly. “You have almost singlehandedly saved the world,” he said, tone flat, “although I must confess that you initially seemed to be the least likely candidate.”

“Thanks,” Klaus managed to choke out, brows furrowing. Rubbing his chest soothingly, he tried to ignore the pain that had bloomed there, taking deep, shuddering breaths despite the protestation of his lungs. “Seems like it was too much to ask for, never seeing you again,” he mused, voice trembling.

His adoptive father didn’t dignify the insult with a response. Instead, Reginald walked up to his desk, looking down at the jewelry box with an exhausted expression and folding his arms behind his back. “I see you’ve discovered the basement,” he said, glancing towards him, and Klaus nodded his head jerkily in confirmation. Sighing, he closed his eyes, brows pinching together before he opened them again. “ _Everything_ I did,” Reginald said, throat sounding raw and the words hollow, “was to save the world, and you as well.”

“Well, great job on that front,” Klaus said sarcastically. Leaning back, he threw his arms out wide, taking several steadying breaths before continuing. “You ended up making Vanya so emotionally unstable that she blew up the moon,” he said, listing it on his fingers, “Luther was _devastated_ that you sent him into space for no reason other than you couldn’t stand his face, Five’s probably gonna’ be hunted by time-traveling sociopathic assassins for the rest of his—“

“The Commission,” he said mildly, and Klaus paused.

There was no way he could’ve guessed the name, but there was also no reason for him to know it already. They’d gotten around and maybe he’d run into them, seeing as he was an essential player in the apocalypse, but Klaus somehow doubted that was the case. “What?” He asked dumbly, blinking up at Reginald with his awful mustache and stern expression.

Then his lips curled up, and it was the first time Klaus had ever actually seen him smile. “You’ve done well to overcome your fear of ghosts,” Reginald said, the first actual compliment Klaus could remember ever being directed towards him from their adoptive father, “and your fear of yourself.”

“How did you know about the Commission?” Klaus deflected breathily, sitting up in his bed while being careful to push himself up with his arms rather than pull himself up with his torso. Flexing those muscles wouldn’t be pleasant with the awful wound that marred his chest.

Slim, wrinkled fingers lacing together on the head of what Klaus realized was an elegant black umbrella, he pursued his lips. “An organization with good intentions, but a rather significant issue of corruption within its leadership,” he explained, moving to sit on the corner of Klaus’ bed while he slid away from him. Klaus wasn’t about to sit in close proximity to the man. “I worked under them for a number of years as a field operative before my retirement to the early twentieth century. My pension is how I had the funds to initially purchase the umbrella company that made me my fortune.”

The news was delivered so casually by their adoptive father that it didn’t quite register immediately. When he finally realized what he’d just said, he could only gape, running his fingers through his curls in frustration. “And you intended on telling us this when?” He asked, brows furrowing.

“You almost finished, babe?” Dave interrupted, knocking on the door and asking the question softly, and he choked on his own breath.

“Just a minute,” he called back.

Turning to Reginald again, the man seemed almost wistful, expression soft and mouth curled in a thin smile. “Those rings you found in the jewelry box,” he said, nodding towards his desk where the elegantly carved box still was open, “they belonged to my wife and I, when we were young.” Klaus nodded slowly, swallowing tightly. Curling his fingers around the smooth bands of metal, he could feel his heart readying to beat out of his chest. “Consider them yours,” he said pointedly, meeting his gaze and gesturing towards the door, “as I doubt you could afford to purchase a set of your own.” Klaus never thought he’d live to see the day when his asshole father was giving him relationship advice, telling him to marry someone, let alone a man. However, he was still slightly offended by his subtle jab.

“Why are you doing this _now?_ ” Klaus croaked weakly, curling forwards and in on himself, and Reginald raised a neatly groomed eyebrow like he didn’t know what Klaus was asking. It was frustrating beyond belief, and he pushed his hand through his hair again, squeezing his eyes shut. “You abuse is for over half our lives,” he said, frustrated, “keep us in your shadow for most of the rest of it, then kill yourself.” Pressing the heels of his palms into his forehead, he fought off the pressure in his head. He was still too hopped up on pain medication for it to be severe, although they were noticeably beginning to wear off. He thought about asking for more before dismissing the thought, knowing that it’d take longer to see Ben and the others if he did. “You aren’t allowed to be like _this,_ ” he hissed, gesturing with his hands towards Reginald, “now that the apocalypse issue is over with.”

Their adoptive father sighed through his nose, rising to his feet. “I’m not looking for forgiveness,” he explained, beginning to walk towards the door. Stopping in front of it, he turned around, and it struck Klaus just how frail the man was. He might’ve been imposing when they were children, but now, he was just a skinny, old man in an oversized suit, a shadow of the monster he had been. “If you come to understand me one day, that is fine,” he said, “but if you ever forgave me, then you’d certainly be a fool, and I’ve come to expect better of you than that, Number Four.” A pause, a brief moment of hesitation. “Klaus.”

Tears pricked at his eyes, and he rubbed roughly at his cheeks, sniffling and trying to pass it off as simple illness. “Dad,” he murmured in acknowledgement, and the man gave a brief, sharp nod before dissolving into nothing, likely to appear again whenever Klaus was once more in a state of extreme emotional vulnerability and turmoil.

The door cracked open, and he hastily shoved the rings into his jacket pocket, sitting up straighter and trying to not look like he’d just been crying. Dave peaked inside, smiling placatingly, and Klaus felt relieved that he didn’t seem to have heard any of their conversation. “We’re ready if you are,” he said, extending a hand, and Klaus stood up and walked over slowly, allowing Dave to support him while they walked. A steadying hand was placed on the small of his back, and Vanya filed in quickly next to them, freshly bathed and clothed in a crisp tuxedo. She looked androgynously beautiful, radiantly stunning even with how small she was trying to make herself, and before he knew it he was tugging her back into his room, sitting her down at his desk.

“We’re gonna’ make everyone there jealous as _fuck,_ Vanya,” Klaus promised her, whipping out his makeup kit, and what followed was the makeover to end all makeovers. He made the foundation light and natural, not caked on, and smudged eyeshadow around her eyes to create the same dark effect she had originally done pre-apocalypse, although his looked more professional, seeing as Vanya normally never wore makeup and he wore it every chance he got. The effect was noticeably less terrifying without her piercing blue eyes, he noted.

Putting blush on her cheeks so she didn’t look like a corpse with her foundation, he clapped when he was finished beaming at her. She looked at herself in the mirror and smiled shyly, clearly pleased by the results. “Thank you, Klaus,” Vanya said, choking up, and he stroked her back in a comforting gesture.

“You’re lovely regardless,” he assured her, “but damn, you look _stunning._ ”

“I can’t believe I’m actually excited for the concert,” she murmured, allowing them to steer her downstairs and towards the cars Reginald kept. It was easy work, picking the locks on the car doors and proceeding to hot wire it, but he allowed Dave to be one driving the vehicle. His license might’ve expired in ‘70, but maybe the fact that he was technically almost seventy five would make the police scratch their heads long enough for them to escape if they got pulled over. “After everything that’s happened,” she continued while he cradled her head in his lap, “I shouldn’t be happy about this.”

“You’ve got people supporting you, now,” Dave assured her, and Klaus gently corrected him when he almost turned left instead of right. He’d never stepped foot in the city, although he was driving just fine. Storm clouds were gathering overhead, and he wondered if it would end up raining. They’d never ended up making it farther than midnight, but he hoped that it wouldn’t be pouring on the ride home, as it would make navigation a struggle. “I’m excited to see you play.”

Klaus tried to imagine Dave as a brother-in-law to his siblings and a husband to himself, and found that it was both incredibly easy to picture, and highly appealing. Compassionate, honest, and patient, while he could be a bit naive, and was every bit as excitable as Klaus was, he was strong and vulnerable and beautiful. Beyond everything else, he was also a genuinely kind person.

‘ _Time matters not_ ’ and ‘ _fates intertwined_ ’ — what would it be like, having the golden bands wrapped around their fingers?

Dave drove them down to Vanya’s apartment, and she hurried inside to grab her violin and sheet music, coming outside with her belongings cradled delicately in her arms. She kept them in her lap on the rest of the drive to the concert hall, and when they arrived, there was a women standing outside in an elegant black dress, arms crossed over her chest.

They parked in the VIP parking lot, and Vanya hurried to the entrance to the concert hall. Klaus watched the woman’s face light up when she saw Vanya, although she quickly schooled it into a neutral expression. He made note of the reaction, trying to remember to ask about it later.

“Vanya,” the woman said mildly, “I wondered if you would make it.”

“Of course, Helen,” she said, and the woman, apparently named Helen, glanced behind Vanya towards them, raising a well-groomed eyebrow skeptically at them.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” She asked, and there was something in her tone that was almost bitter. Extra interesting, Klaus supposed, and he tried to keep from smiling. Vanya winced, clutching her violin a bit harder to her chest. “And who are they?”

“Leonard’s... we split up. It wasn’t pretty.” Maybe that meant that Harold/Leonard was alive, Klaus figured. “He’s my brother,” she gestured towards Klaus, “and he’s his boyfriend. My other brother should be coming, um, soon.” Klaus was happy she was including Ben, because as soon as the painkillers fully wore off, he’d physically manifest Ben and it would be a nice night out as a family. Well, as much a family as they were going to get.

“Alright,” Helen said, noticeably relaxing. She’d seemed defensive at first, although her posture had loosened when she’d heard Vanya had broken up with her boyfriend. Klaus had missed out on that part — he’d need to ask the others about what had happened, and if it had been a fatal split like the last time. “We should go get set up,” she suggested, gently grabbing Vanya by the wrist, but their sister looked back warily.

“Go on,” Klaus encouraged her, “we’ll be waiting in the audience. Good luck!”

There were nine seats in the audience reserved for the Hargreeves family and the decommissioned Harold when they entered the concert hall, all in the front couple of rows, and he was assured by the man who took their tickets that the seats would be filled if they hadn’t shown up by the start of the concert. Leaning on Dave’s shoulder, spreading out his knit blanket, he tried to relax and focus on anything but his chest pain.

He had expected Ben to show up eventually, but he hadn’t expected the rest of his siblings to shuffle into the theater, dressed for a fancy night out. Allison looked beautiful in a long red dress, while the rest of them were in a sliding scale of formal suit. Five was dressed in his normal Academy uniform, Luther had on a dress shirt with buttons that seemed ready to pop and sleeves that bulged around his biceps, and he was just happy that Diego didn’t have his knife holsters strapped around his chest and waist. Eudora was there, too, one of the eight seats having been saved for her, and she embraced him before sitting down, dressed in a lovely grey blazer and matching dress pants. Surprisingly enough, Beaman sat in the seat that had been reserved for Harold, looking awfully nervous as he and Luther awkwardly avoided looking at each other. He’d need to ask about that later. He didn’t know who the ninth seat was reserved for, although something told him it was Zoya.

“I’m glad you’re alive, Klaus,” Eudora said, voice somewhat strained.

“I am, too,” he said with an awkward laugh. There had been the real possibility of him dying.

After a moment of silence, Luther leaned across Dave, placing a hand on Klaus’ where it rested on the armrest. “Diego told me everything about the, uh, last timeline,” he said cautiously, and Klaus stuck his tongue out at said brother, who rolled his eyes. Luther swallowed nervously, eyes flitting between the stage, Diego, and Klaus. “I’m sorry,” he continued, “and I hope that, um, I hope I can make things right again, somehow.”

It was touching, and Klaus nodded, voice thick with emotion when he spoke. “I,” uh,” he started, “yeah, okay, Luther.”

His brother relaxed, and Allison punched Klaus lightly in the arm from where she sat one seat over. “You didn’t have to shoulder the weight alone,” she said scoldingly, and he shrugged, smiling wryly. The gesture only served to make her more exasperated, although it made her laugh. “You’ve made me proud, though,” she admitted, and her words made him blush.

“I mean,” he said, trying to deflect the attention, “Ben was the original owner of both our collective brain cells, so we really have to credit him for my apocalypse-stopping success.”

“Whatever you did,” Five said, staring neutrally ahead at the closed curtains onstage, “it worked.”

“Can you see Ben yet?” Luther asked, and Allison sent him a sharp glare, although Klaus couldn’t care less. She was probably thinking the same question, and Luther was just the only one of them pragmatic enough to ask the question. “Sorry we had to, uh,” he said awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck, “drug you.”

Waving his concerns away, Klaus winked at him playfully. “He’s here in our hearts,” he assured his brother, patting the empty seat cushion to his left while knowing he probably just phased through their brother. He’d gotten accustomed enough to being moved through that he didn’t care anymore, although he still put up a fuss for the sake of his nonexistent reputation. “I should be good to see him in twenty, thirty minutes,” he elaborated, “Maybe make him corporeal in forty or so.” Dave laced his fingers with him, skin warm and calloused where he made contact with him.

“Don’t strain yourself,” he chided him gently. Dave knew well enough that Klaus tended to overdo things, and although Klaus pouted, he knew it wasn’t a good idea to try forcing it. Giving his hand a squeeze, he lifted it, kissing the back of his hand. “Don’t want you passing out on me,” he continued, “or reopening that chest wound of yours.”

Klaus watched Diego and Eudora share a shy kiss, just a chaste peck on the lips, and quickly looked back to Dave, smiling mischievously. Leaning forwards, he smushed their faces together, reaching up to gently catch his jaw. Dave reached forwards to place his hand on his bony hip, but as the curtains were drawn apart, he shifted backwards, placing a finger on his lips. “Shush,” he said, hushing him, “the concert’s starting, Davey!”

The concert began, and he watched in awe as his sister played.

While she didn’t have the solo — it was played by Helen, who Klaus assumed had been killed by Harold because he remembered Vanya mentioning that the woman who was originally first chair had disappeared — Vanya was still _incredible._ She played with a passion she had lacked while on the drugs given to her by Reginald, looking lovely and strong and comfortable in her own skin, and they were all fixated on her performance, unable to look away for a reason that wasn’t her power.

“She’s amazing,” Luther said softly, and Allison nodded.

“Vanya has always been amazing,” she agreed.

“Haven’t you ever heard her—“ Klaus started, but then the doors in the back of the auditorium were suddenly being slammed open, and Klaus whopped around, watching in numb horror as dozens of men in neon red masks poured inside of the concert hall. The Commission, he realized. Klaus barely had the time to issue a shout of warning before they were opening fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is the final one, y’all, and after that is the epilogue. It’s been a fun journey, one that I think has been a real learning experience for me, and I hope that it ends in a way that’s satisfying for both all of you, and me.
> 
> If you’re curious about the Beaman/Luther, you’ll have to wait for the side story for context. ;) I had a really weird dream y’all, not gonna’ lie, and the crackship quickly became an actual ship, although it has absolutely zero rhyme, reason, or logical basis in reality and has a —200% chance of happening in the show (unless any writers are reading this and see my brilliance). This is _my_ self-indulgent bullshit, and it’s 100% cuter than Luther/Allison.
> 
> Anybody else think he’s a member of the Commission? I’m fairly certain the Commission’s benefactors need the apocalypse to rise to power (“just the end of _some things,_ ” the Handler said), and Reginald, when he retired and after the woman he talked to in episode 10 died, decided to spend his retirement in, like, the 1910s or something. In my theory, he likely used that pension to purchase the umbrella factory that made him his fortune. How else would he have known about everything in advance, and what about the rocket ships? Reginald is a horrible, flawed human being, who also has been shown to have some degree of empathy (his interactions with his wife/girlfriend/other important woman from that episode 10 scene, asking if Luther was alright even after saying he should’ve burned the moon stuff in the barber shop with Klaus, giving Vanya the violin and seeming pleased with how happy it made her, etc.), and so I tried to stay true to the fact that his ultimate goal was stopping the apocalypse, even if that meant ruining the childhoods of seven children. He doesn’t deserve any sort of forgiveness, and is utterly irredeemable, but I don’t think he’s an _evil sociopath,_ and I also think he’s a very, very interesting and well-developed, multi-faceted character who’s really fun to right.
> 
>  **^^TLDR:** Reggie is a horribly flawed _piece of shit_ father who never should’ve been allowed to adopt children, but he’s also is an interesting, provoking character to write who has a lot of depth that’s not usually acknowledged. I am _convinced_ he’s a member of the Commission — either that, or he’s an alien. :P
> 
> Next time, we reach the end, and the Hargreeves siblings fulfill their destiny.


End file.
